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Solitary Island... 


A STORY OF 

THE ST LAWRENCE 



jOHN TALBOT SMITH 

AUTHOR OF 

“ BROTHER AZARIAS,” A WOMAN OF CULTURE,” 
“his HONOR THE W.AYOR,” ‘‘ SARANAC,” ETC. 


THIRD EDITION 



NEW YORK 

WILLIAM H. YOUNG & COMPANY 
31 Barclay Street 
1897 



COPYKIGHT, l89f 

BY 

JOHN TALBOT SMITH 


All right! reurved 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAOB 

I. Flight ! 5 

II. Marriage 11 

III. The Island 25 

IV. The Sick Room 39 

V. On Retreat 55 

VI. Death 70 

VII. A Bohemian 83 

VIII. The Portrait on the Wall 92 

IX. Ruth 106 

X. A Reunion 115 

XI. Old Hopes 128 

XII. Rejected 140 

XIII. The Inquisitors 148 

XIV. Mystery 159 

XV. A Barbecue 170 

XVI. Rossiter’s Luck 186 

XVII. A Proposal 201 

XVIII. Mrs. Winifred's Confession — 212 

XIX. Barbara Wins 230 

XX. Prince Florian 246 

XXI. The Prince’s Story 267 

XXII. Barbara’s Spite 285 

XXIII. Terrible Truth 296 

XXIV. The Hidden Life 310 

XXV. Reparation 334 

XXVI. True Hearts 849 



SOLITARY ISLAND. 


CHAPTEE I. 

FLIGHT ! 

Among the beautiful islands in that wonderful 
cluster at the source of the river St. Lawrence is one 
noticeable for its petty size and peculiar shape. It 
covers a quarter of an acre, perhaps, and lying at 
the foot of a sister island some seven miles long, 
would never attract visitors but for its shape and its 
excellent view of the village of Clay burgh. Smaller 
islands, mere rocky stars on the watery bine, crowd 
about it, and shut it out from the sight of approach- 
ing travelers ; but, arching its back from the water 
like a bow, and throwing into the air a natural pyra- 
mid of moss-eaten graystone, it offers a summit high 
above its sisters. Nature has provided a stairway 
to the platform above, and a stunted tree clinging 
there welcomes the sightseer with scanty shade. 

Here, on a day of early September, sat a man 
quietly looking upon the splendid view before him. 
The sun was swinging close to the Canadian horizon, 
and Clayburgh was crimsoned with its autumn glory. 
The water was on fire. With every ripple and wave 


6 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


red sparks and flames seemed to shoot into the air, 
the smoky woods lending to the illusion. It was 
neither chilly nor warm. A pleasant mean prevailed 
in the air, and so softly did the colors of dying day 
blend with those of the coming night that he who 
sat there was unmindful of the passing hours. His 
gaze wandered from one feature of the scene to 
another, and its placidity was reflected in the repose 
of his body, in his gentle breathing, and in the pen- 
sive expression of his face. His general appearance 
was not that of one gifted with many of the flner 
human instincts. A blue shirt, gray breeches, un- 
dressed shoes, cap and leggings, all of very coarse 
material, made up his costume ; his skin was tough- 
ened and browned by years of exposure, and a curly 
red beard covered the lower part of the face. The 
rifle at his side, and the Ashing tackle in his canoe 
indicated the sportsman. Yet there was more about 
him, as there is about every man, than even second 
glances would discover. His light hair and red beard 
were of a very fine texture, his hands were shapely, 
his features delicately cut, and his blue e3^es, if a 
little too keen in their glance, were sympathetic and 
expressive ; but his skin cap hid hair and face, and 
tanned complexion and rough costume hid much 
more from curious eyes. As he looked at the dis- 
tant village bathed in sunset fire he muttered to him- 
self, and not seldom the unheeded tears fell down his 
cheek. 

“ Ah, friend Scott, dreaming, hey ? ’’ 

A rough voice came from below, where a fat, half- 
naked man was just rising from the water. 

Scott looked down quietly. 


FLIGHT. 


7 


“You had quite a swim of it, Pen’l’ton,” he said, 
without moving. “ Thought you couldn’t hev got 
here for a good hour yet.” 

“ The devil ! ” growled Pendleton, shaking himself 
like a dog and swinging his naked arms to take off 
the chill. “ You’re a nice man, to allow me to swim 
all the way, and your boat so handy ! I’m chilled 
through. Why didn’t you shout when you saw me 
coming ? ” 

“ Didn’t know you were cornin’ till I saw you half- 
way over. Squire. Did you want to see me ? ” 

“ Did I want to see you ? ” sneered the Squire as 
he rummaged the canoe. “ IS’o ; I want to see your 
whiskey bottle — ^haven’t any, confound ye ! I’m a 
likely man to leave my clothes on the island and 
swim this far, and do it all for nothing. Look at 
me,” he said, as he began to mount the natural steps, 
“ and ask that question again.” 

‘‘ It’s a strange fix for you, Pen’l’ton,” said Scott, 
amused. “You’re not runnin’ away from the law, 
maybe ? ” 

“ Yes, I am running away from the law,” answered 
the Squire, shaking his fist at Clayburgh. “ Blame 
’em ! they haven’t left me a place this side of France 
or South America to hide in. They are after my 
head, man ; they’ve offered a reward — to any man, 
woman, child or jackass that will present ’em with 
me, dead or alive, or with my head.” 

“ I heard somethin’ ” began the hunter. 

“ Of course you did. Ther’ all talking about it~ 
about the fool Pendleton, who sided with Mackenzie, 
another fool, and helped him to get justice for Cana- 
dians, and now has two governments after him. 


8 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Well, I’m the man, and I’ve come to you for help ; 
nobody else wants to give it.” 

“ I’m glad you lit on me, Squire,” Scott began again. 

“ Oh ! are you ? ” sneered the Squire, nettled by the 
tone. “ Wait till you hear the whole of it. ‘ Any 
man who harbors, assists, feeds, etc.. Squire Pendle- 
ton goes to jail along with him when he’s caught.’ 
How do you like that, hey ? ” 

Scott was silent and turned his gaze in the direc- 
tion of the town, whose spires alone now caught the 
reflection of the sun’s last rays. Pendleton evidently 
did not expect this action on the hunter’s part, and 
he grew uneasy and angry. A half-sigh escaped him, 
for his position was really one of peril, and there 
were others interested in his fate whom his capture 
would affect bitterly. 

“ I don’t wish to bring any one into trouble, Scott,” 
he hastened to say, “ and I’m not going to do it 
for you. But knowing these islands as you do, I 
thought you could show me some hiding-place that 
would give me refuge until I can leave the country. 
For they’ll not catch me — no, not if I have to swim 
to the Bay of Biscay.” 

There was no answer from Scott, and his thoughts 
seemed to be miles away from the Squire’s affairs. 
Pendleton stood for a moment irresolute, and then 
hastily descended the steps and jumped into the 
canoe. 

“ You’re like the rest,” he murmured. “ There’s 
not a man among the whole crew. Well, you can 
meditate there for the rest of the night or swim for 
it. I’m going to make this my property.” He 
attempted to cut the rope of the canoe, when by a 


FLIGHT. 


9 


dexterous jerk Scott upset the boat and the Squire 
went into the water headlong. As he rose splutter- 
ing the hunter was engaged in rescuing his floating 
tackle. 

“ Foolin’ with governments is dangerous,” said he, 
“ an’ it’s natural to think I don’t want to get mixed 
up in your evil doin’s. But then I’m not goin’ back 
on ye. Squire, not if I know it, even though my head 
was concerned, which it isn’t, for in this country they 
don’t go quite so much on the head-choppin’ as I’ve 
heard tell of in other countries. I kin find a place 
for ye, p’raps. It mayn’t be much to your likin’, 
for beds are scarce, an’ furniture has to grow of 
itself thar. But you’ll hev the sun to call 3^e at six 
o’clock, an’ stars will see ye to bed and watch over 
ye all night along with the singin’ o’ the water. 
Squire, them’s my comforts.” 

“ They agree with you mightily ,” murmured Pen- 
dleton, who was now rather subdued. Having put 
his boat in order, Scott invited his companion to 
enter and was surprised to receive a cold and 
emphatic refusal. 

“ I’ve got a new idea from that ducking,” he said 
gloomily, “ and I’m going to follow it out. Good- 
bye ; thanks for your offer.” And he plunged into 
the water again, only to be pulled out almost roughly 
by a strong, impatient hand. 

“ This,” said the Squire, purpling, “ is ” 

“ Common sense— nothin’ less, Pen’l’ton,” was the 
firm, severe interruption. Don’t ye think I know 
more about this business of yours than to let you 
walk right smack into the hands of the officers? 
What’r you thinkin’ of ? What about Kuth ? ” 


10 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ Yes, yes, you’re right,” the other answered 
hastily. ‘‘ I’m a fool. Poor Kuth I Go on. I’ll go 
to the devil, if you say so.” 

Scott pointed to the boat, in which the Squire 
penitently took his seat. 

“ Shall we go for your clothes ? ” 

“ Let ’em stay there. If they think me drowned, 
so much the better.” 

Scott pushed off and took his course eastward. 
The sun had set, and heavy clouds had closed like 
prison-gates on his glories. A thin mist was rising 
from the marshy shores. The silence of coming 
night was scarcely disturbed by the dip of the paddle 
and the cry of the wild duck in the distance. 

“ They’ll not see our course,” Pendleton said, half 
to himself, “ and Kuth will be satisfied. Poor Kuth ! ” 
Scott did not hear him. His eyes were fixed, as 
usual, on the scenes around him, and reflected more 
than ever the emotions of his simple heart. These 
must have been very pleasant then, for his face was 
lit up by a happy smile. 


CHAPTEK 11. 


MARRIAGE. 

About the hour which saw Squire Pendleton puff- 
ing through the chilly waters of the St. Lawrence, 
Clayburgh’s young and rising lawyer sat in his office, 
wondering what had become of the chief figure in 
the social and political life of the village. The office 
window commanded a view of the river and its isl- 
ands, and Mr. Wallace with the aid of a glass could 
have witnessed the scene between the Squire and the 
friendly fisherman. But his thoughts were just then 
given to himself. He had a bright future before 
him, and he was surveying it with the enchanted 
telescope of the mind. His youthful histor}^ had 
not one cloud, not one error, not one ill-success in it. 
Everything he had done from childhood up had been 
done well. His townsmen flattered him, and took 
pride in his abilities. His family adored him. Good 
offers were made to him by legal firms in the larger 
cities, but work in his native village was plentiful 
and profitable, if not suited to develop a great mind. 
All his affairs were in good condition. He had 
health, strength, money, and good looks. His per- 
sonal gifts were numerous, and not all of them were 
known even to himself. He was generous, yet cool- 
minded and prudent ; passionate, yet thoroughly self- 
ruled. He had given his heart to the keeping of 
11 


12 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Squire Pendleton’s daughter, and she had accepted the 
trust almost, and half-promised to become his wife. 
Once they were married he would go to Kew York, 
and settling down to hard work would aim for the 
very highest things that a man might attain to in a 
life-time. What they were he hardly knew; but 
the path of sunlit water, which lay before him as far 
as he could see, was not so rosy as the path of glory 
along which his dreams conducted him to the pin- 
nacle of fai^ie. It intoxicated him to think of these 
things. He thought it a sign of his secret and untried 
ability that he could dream so, whereas it was only 
the product of a good and young constitution, an 
ambitious soul, and an overpowering vanity. 

‘‘ Hot one trouble in the world,” said Florian, “ and 
not one obstacle in sight that amounts to anything. 
I am a lucky man.” 

Yet, just at that moment, so rosy, so hopeful, his 
ill-luck gave a soft, imperative tap at the office door. 

“ Come in,” said Florian. 

The parish priest entered, Florian’s friend and sec- 
ond father, who took as much pride in the boy, — and 
more perhaps, — as any good father would. For he 
had trained him in childhood, and guided his young 
manhood, and it was from him that Florian had 
learned his severe adhesion to religious principle, and 
strict literary tastes. His short, stout body was 
dressed in a clerical costume of the time, his face clean 
shaven, rosy in color, and very reserved in expres- 
sion. There was no asceticism in his appearance. 
His manners were brusque. He said little, and 
smiled rarely, but in all that he did and said and 
looked there was that odd, indefinable something 


MARRIAGE. 13 

which proclaims a man who differs from the major- 
ity of men. 

“ No news of the Squire,” said Pere Kouge^dn. 

“ Not a word,” replied Florian. I have no doubt 
if we let him alone, or if the government detectives 
go away he will come back soon enough. His rheu- 
matism is not the sort of baggage for a political 
exile.” 

“ Miss Kuth is anxious about him.” 

“ No doubt, no doubt, but there is little need for 
anxiety. If there were ” 

He hesitated and the priest added : 

“ You would make things fly to settle her fears. 
How does the New York idea develop ? ” 

“ So, so, father,” said Florian. ‘‘ Let us say two 
months from now, for the finish.” 

And he went on to picture the results leading up 
to his departure, until he saw the ambiguous smile 
which touched the priest’s lips and instantly 
faded. 

“ Well,” said he, “ what do you smile at ? Do you 
think me too hopeful ? ” 

“ There are no hindrances in your way ? ” said the 
priest, in a questioning tone. 

“ Well, none that I can see.” 

There was a moment’s silence, and the priest 
walked to the window as if he had dismissed the 
subject. 

“ Are you going home to supper ? ” he said. 

“ Now I am sure,” interrupted Florian, “ that you 
see something in the way, if I don’t, and I must ask 
you, Pere Kougevin, to tell me of it.” 

“ I thought you knew all worth knowing concern- 


14 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


ing your own affairs. — But then, you are quite cer- 
tain of Euth’s conversion to the faith ? ” 

“ Ah I ’’ said Florian, struck dumb with a sudden 
fear. 

“ I can say no more,” the priest went on. I 
have known Miss Pendleton since she was a child. 
She has been brought up loosely in matters of relig- 
ion, but her tastes and feelings are religious. She 
knows something about us, and is quite used to our 
ways. She is very conscientious. I cannot say that 
she takes to Catholicity.” 

It was a long speech for the priest to make, and 
he at once dismissed the entire matter by taking up 
another subject of conversation. But Florian was 
really frightened. 

“ Fere,” said he, “ I can’t think or talk of any- 
thing but what you have just told me. When you 
speak of a thing there is always something to it. 
What am I to do ? I’m not a fool. I cannot live 
without Euth. I do not believe in mixed marriages. 
But it would be as bitter as death to give her up 
just when I had made myself believe it was all right.” 

“ One should not make himself believe it was all 
right,” said the priest. 

“ I know, I know,” the lawyer impatiently an- 
swered. “ But how many are so careful as that. 
Euth and I were brought up together. I am sure she 
has a high regard for me ” 

“ You do well to put it that way.” 

“ What ! you think she has no other feeling for 
me but regard ? ” 

The priest shrugged his shoulders. 

‘‘ Ah ! ” said Florian, “ if it be true that she can- 


MARBIAGB. 


15 


not in conscience become a Catholic, then it’s all 
over between us. But I am not going to believe 
that. I will see for myself. I cannot believe it.” 

“ Do,” said Pere Kougevin. “ It will be better 
for you.” 

And hastily bidding the young lawyer good-day 
he went out quickly. Florian knitted his brows 
and fell to thinking. It was not safe to have too 
rosy a future to dream on. Ten minutes ago he 
could not find an obstacle in his path, and now 
Kuth was on the very point of departing from 
him. lie was bound not to give her up easily. 
The young man was practical in his love as in 
his business. He had not that abandonment of 
feeling which brooks no possible danger of losing 
the object of his feeling. He knew that death, or 
conscience, or a change of heart might at any mo- 
ment step between him and the woman he loved, 
and so he did not say, “ I shall never give her up,” 
but instead, “ I shall not give her up easily,” — a good 
and prudent restriction to put upon his determina- 
tion. He sat thinking until the sun disappeared 
behind the islands, and then it occurred to him that 
this new and unexpected trouble which had come 
upon him would surely be followed by others. “ It 
never rains but it pours.” It would be a good 
thing to see Kuth at once, and have an understand- 
ing with her that would prove the Pere mistaken, 
and it might keep off other troubles. He seized his 
hat, when a second knock sounded on the door. For 
a moment he was tempted to jump out of the win- 
dow ; then smiling at his own fancies he bade the 
visitor enter. The Kev. Dunstan Buck was not a 


16 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


visitor or client of Florian’s, and therefore he did 
not wonder at the slight start which the lawyer 
gave on seeing him. The young man was not so 
much surprised at his visit as at the circumstance of 
two clergymen following each other into his office. 
Mr. Buck was invited to a seat, and took it nervously. 
His over-elegant appearance made the little office 
look dingy, for as the minister of a very High Church 
congregation, he found it necessary to look and dress 
as if every moment had seen him put on a new 
suit, bathe, shave, and say prayers. He was for all 
that a gentle-minded and good-hearted man. 

“ I may have made a blunder in coming to you,” 
he began with his glasses fixed on the lawyer, “ but 
I really did not see to what member of the family 
I could address myself. Your father, unhappily, 
does not take to the town ministers, and I am aware 
that Catholics are very strict about these things, 
but in short, Mr. Wallace, I have a high esteem 
for your sister Sara, and I would like to pay her my 
addresses.” 

The lawyer’s response was prompt and nicely- 
worded, but the surprise he felt could not be put 
into words. 

‘‘Has Miss Wallace any suspicion of your feelings 
towards her ? ” he asked. 

“ I told her that I intended to speak to you,” said 
the minister. “ She made no serious objections, but 
seemed to dread it.” 

“ Of course, her own wishes are the chief thing to 
be looked at,” replied Florian. “ But I may as well 
warn you, Mr. Buck, that you are going to meet 
with bitter opposition. Father and mother, Pere 


MARRIAGE. 


17 


Kougevin, my sister Linda and myself cannot favor 
you at all. You know very well that my sister will 
become a Protestant in marrying you, something 
which no Catholic can think of with pleasure. At 
the same time, I am sure your conduct in doing 
nothing secretly is that of a gentleman. But I wish 
I could persuade you to look elsewhere for a wife.’’ 

Mr. Buck was silent for a moment. “I cannot 
promise you,” he said. ‘‘ I hoped that perhaps you 
might persuade your family ” 

“ This is the situation, Mr. Buck,” Florian politely 
broke in. “You know my father. If he thought 
you were courting Miss Sara, your life and hers 
would be made miserable and notorious in the village. 
I could not change him even if I would.” 

Bev. Mr. Buck rose hastily. 

“ I see, — I understand,” he said. “ I wished to do 
everything honorably. You will not blame me if 
anything should occur contrary to your wishes.” 

“Certainly not. I am greatly obliged by your 
candor,” said Florian as he bowed him out ; “ but 
I’ll take good care that nothing occurs contrary to 
those wishes,” he added when his visitor was gone, 
leaving a faint scent of the perfume bottle in the air. 
Supper that evening in the Wallace dining-room 
was a dull, even threatening affair. When it was 
finished Sara at a sign from her brother followed 
him into the little room he called his study. One 
window only admitted the light, and had painted 
on its narrow panes a waterview, with, pine-fringed 
islands and the north-west sky for a background. 
Florian motioned his sister to a chair. She was 
pale but calm and obstinate-looking. Her face had 


18 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


set itself in a cold, hard expression which did not 
daunt the youth, but rendered him uneasy. 

“ I was a little surprised to-day ” he began. 

‘‘You always are,” she retorted, without looking 
at him. 

“ To have a visit from Mr. Buck. It seemed to be 
understood that Mr. Buck was an accepted suitor of 
yours, and that before long matrimony would make 
a convert to Protestantism where conviction could 
not.” 

“ Well, what of it ? Is Mr. Buck less a gentleman 

because he is a minister ” 

“ Excuse me if I do not argue that point,” her 
brother interrupted. “Mr. Buck is a gentleman, 
though a little shallow and sometimes silly. What 
I desire to know is, have you given any reason to 
others to talk of you in this way ? ” 

“ And if I have, am I bound to tell you of it ? ” 
“You misunderstand me, Sara,” he said gently. 
“ I am not your master, but your brother, and I ask 
the question, not because you are bound to answer 
it, but because it will be better for you to do so.” 

“Well, people will talk,” she replied lightly. “I 
have never given him the slightest encouragement.” 

“Why, then, should he come to me?” Elorian 
persisted. “ Are you sure that you have not even 
thought of encouraging him. May not some of your 
actions which you thought light and unmeaning 

have given him reason to think ” 

“ I won’t answer any more,” she said, bridling. 
“Why, one would think I was in a witness-box, 
sworn to tell my every thought to you. It’s worse 
than the Inquisition ? ” 


MARRIAGE. 


19 


“ Than the Inquisition ! ’’ repeated Florian in as- 
tonishment. “ Perhaps it might be worse than that, 
if the matter comes to father’s ears.” 

Sara’s lips quivered at this implied threat, and the 
tears filled her eyes. They were tears of spite, not 
of grief. 

You are mean enough to tell him,” and her voice 
trembled despite her pride. I am persecuted every- 
where. 1^0 one seems to care for me.” 

“ It is just because we care for you, all of us, that 
we trouble you so much. Is it no pain to us that 
you should marry a Protestant minister and be lost 
to the faith ? ” 

She broke into fitful sobbing. Florian walked to 
the Avindow and looked out gloomily on the scene. 
She dried her eyes at length, and proceeded from tears 
to frowns. 

I won’t stand this persecution any longer,” she 
said rising. You may tell every one, you may tell 
the wrinkled old bore yonder ” — she alluded to her 
father — “ you may tell the Avorld ; but I shall do as I 
please, and if you attempt any more of this I have 
at least one refuge open to me.” 

“ Then it is true,” said her brother, with ominous 
quiet in his voice. 

“ You can believe it, if you wish to,” and she at- 
tempted to leave the room, but he stood between her 
and the door, with so stern a face that she greAV 
frightened again. 

“ You must remember,” he said, “that this is no 
child’s play, and that until you satisfy me one way 
or another as to Avhat you have done in this matter 
your life will be twice as unpleasant as you say it 


20 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


has been. Your father shall know of it at once, the 
priest shall hear it as soon as may be, and Mr. 
Buck shall receive a warning. ISTow you can take 
your choice — make a clean breast of what you know 
or prepare to suffer.” 

She walked over to the window for a moment 
and burst out weeping again. Her brother, stern 
as he looked, felt a sudden pang and sighed. 

“ It is true,” he thought, and, worse than all, she 
cares for him.” 

There was a long silence until Sara had dried her 
tears once more and was calm enough to speak. 
Her first words showed that she had become reason- 
able. 

‘‘ You make me suffer for nothing,” she said. 

“ I suffer myself much more,” he replied. ‘‘ You 
are too dear to me that I should look on you throw- 
ing yourself into an abyss, and not feel troubled. 
Have you no pity for us who love you ? Do you 
not know that our grief would be less hopeless, less 
keen, to see you dead than to see you the wife of 
this man ? Dead, you would be still ours ; living 
and his wife, our separation would be eternal. Sara, 
think for a moment and you will see your folly.” 

“ I haven’t been guilty of any folly. Mr. Buck 
was foolish enough to pay his addresses to me, but 
I never encouraged him, never responded even. 
And, since you wish it, I’ll not look at him 
again.” 

“ Thank you,” said Florian, but he was not at all 
satisfied. Sara thought that her last speech was 
exceedingly frank, and truthful enough in appearance 
to deceive her brother, but her face was not reassur- 


MARRIAGE. 


21 


ing. He saw no sincerity there, only the assump- 
tion of sincerity, and went away sad, to join Linda 
outside, while Sara, after making a face at him as he 
retired, hurried away to her own room and a new 
novel. Linda was standing where the sun could fall 
on her face through a veil of green leaves, and peer- 
ing down on the river. 

“ Well,” said Linda, “ what did she say ? ” 

“ Hothing ; neither admitted nor denied, but fussed 
a good deal, wept and defied me, and wound up by 
declaring that she was innocent and would never do 
it again.” 

“ I wish we could believe her.” 

And don’t you ? ” he said reproachfully. 

“ I am sorry to think I do not. Sara is not very 
truthful. While you are here it may do very well ; 
when you are gone ” 

“ I am not gone yet,” he said when she hesitated. 

“ This incident may hinder your going. I hope 
it will. I would be tempted to favor Mr. Buck, if 
it would.” 

“ Be reasonable, child. We must all part one day, 
and why not now, when health and youth belong to 
us ? Separation is to be expected, and has hap- 
pened to so many families that we should not wonder 
if it happens to ours.” 

“ Ho one wonders ; one only grieves. I know just 
what thoughts actuate you, Florian, and they aston- 
ish me. You are too ambitious.” 

“ It is ^ the failing of great minds,’ ” he quoted, 
smiling. She shook her head sadly and turned 
her eyes on the river, now dusky under twilight’s 
shadow. 


22 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ Look at it,” she said. “ AVhat a fine spot to live 
and die in.” 

“ Sometimes I have thought it too,” he replied 
musingly. “ I know every feature of the place so 
well, and the idea of living sixty quiet years among 
the same scenes is pleasing. What a placid face, 
what an untroubled heart, an old man would have 
after six decades ! He would naturally graduate 
into eternity then. A dream ! Impossible ! The 
soul was made for action. I couldn’t think of it.” 

He jumped up in his eagerness, and noticed that 
his sister had burst into tears. The next moment 
she laughed. 

“ That is the end of it, Florian. You have pro- 
nounced the separation of our family : you to poli- 
tics, Sara to Mr. Buck, and myself to ” 

“ The prince, of course ; and you will find that 
such changes, though bitter, leave a honey in their 
wound. Come, get your cloak and hat, and we shall 
walk.” 

Linda was glad to hide her confusion at his last 
words, and ran away to prepare herself. 

“ I wonder,” she said, as they went down the hill 
to the bay, “ that Sara did not think of throwing 
Euth Pendleton at you in reproaching her for en- 
couraging Mr. Buck.” 

‘‘ It is a wonder,” replied Florian ; “ she is so — 
well, she knows I would not marry Euth if there 
was not a prospect of her conversion.” 

“ And wouldn’t you ? ” 

“ Why do you ask that question, Linda? ” he said, 
looking down at her serious face. 

“ I thought, you know — that is, I heard you extol 


MARRIAGE. 


23 


the power of love so often, and — well, the thought 
doesn't come to me. I mean wouldn’t it hurt you a 
Utile to give her up ” 

“ If she didn’t become a Catholic after all ? Yes, 
it would hurt me.” 

They walked along in silence for a time. 

“ Kuth is so Quakerish, so thoughtful, and so 
determined,” said Linda. “ If she couldn’t feel 
convinced, she wouldn’t become a Catholic — not for 
twenty Florians.” 

“ Her highest praise, that. I would never have 
given her my heart otherAvise. If my wife is to be 
a Catholic she shall be a good one.” 

“ But just think, Florian, if she didn’t believe ! ” 

‘‘ You are bound to think disagreeable things to- 
night,” he said laughing, but let us work on the if. 
In that Case Huth and I Avould part and there Avould 
be an end to it.” 

‘‘ A cool description of a hot affair,” she said. 

“ Do you know, the Pere gave me a fright on this 
matter not more than two hours past. He thinks 
Kuth will not become a Catholic.” 

“ It has often occurred to me,” she replied with 
spirit ; “ nor would I, Avere I a Protestant, for the 
sake of getting a husband.” 

The next minute she laughed at his indignant 
face, and made an apology. 

Ho, no, Flory, you may be sure I did not mean 
that. Euth has too good a heart, too strong a prin- 
ciple to do such a silly thing. She’s in trouble noAV 
over her poor father. You ought to go and comfort 
her.” 

He was not very enthusiastic in taking the offer, 


24 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


but at all events lie must know something definite 
about her change of religious convictions before that 
night passed. 

I think I will go,” he said. They were standing 
on the river shore, and his boat lay ready a few feet 
away. Linda pushed him into it. 

“ Try to make her promise to-night,” she said, as 
he rowed off, “ and here’s good luck to you.” 


CHAPTEE III. 


THE ISLAND. 

Squire Pendleton’s dwelling stood a mile from 
the village on the south side of the bay, and was the 
first object which he saw that afternoon from the 
little island. The mistress of the house, at the 
same moment that her father looked with moist 
eyes upon his home, was pacing sadly the veranda 
which ran along the east side of the building ; while 
Florian was listening to the priest’s painful remarks 
about her religious inclinations she was still restlessly 
walking there ; and yet later, when Linda urged her 
brother to visit her and he had put off from the 
shore, she had not left the veranda nor lost her 
nervousness. She had been in deep trouble ever 
since her father had been involved in the unlucky 
rebellion. His night-and-day journeying to escape 
the officers, the exposure which an old man must 
suffer from considerably, the accidents which might 
happen to him, kept her in a state of nervous dread. 

Miss Pendleton was a very womanly young creat- 
ure, of an original turn of mind, and a very plain 
address. The best point in her character was, she 
thought very little of herself. While her father was 
hurried on by the devil of delusion and Florian was 
racked at the thought of losing her, and Linda wept 
over the chance of her non-conversion, she alone 
25 


28 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


plainly showed. Sometimes the waves which broke 
in their path found a lodging place in the boat ; and 
as they energed from the channel into a broad bay 
where the shifting winds had full play, the little 
craft began to heave, and between altering their 
course and dodging seas they were a long time in 
getting to their destination. It was with great satis- 
faction Florian sailed under the lee of a pretty 
island not more than a mile distant from the 
Canadian shore. 

“ This is the place,” said Euth ; ‘‘ we are to look 
for a projecting rock, a house, and a light.” 

“ That is, you want Scott’s oratory, hermitage, 
ranch, or whatever you please to caU it,” he replied. 

“ Cabin is a good word, for I fancy the hunter is 
not a man of much prayer.” 

“ He ought to be, in this solitude.” All at once 
a light and a rock burst upon their view, and the 
hunter himself stood on the shore to welcome them 
in the darkness. When Euth and Florian had 
landed and the boat was safely anchored, he led 
them into a double-roomed cabin, such a hut as 
men of his class are accustomed to build — stout 
and serviceable, with a table and stools, a single 
window, a great fireplace heaped with logs — for the 
nights are chilly so near the water — fire-arms and 
fishing-tackle in profusion, a print or two, and a 
few well-thumbed books. There was nothing no- 
ticeable in the hut save its cleanliness, neatness, and 
wholesome smell, as if no more offensive intruders 
than sun, air, and good cookery ever found entrance. 

Make yourself quite at home,” said the hermit, 
placing the single candle where it would afford the 


THE ISLAND. 


29 


most light. ‘‘ Your pavv" is not here, Miss, but he’ll 
be here right off as soon as I kin git to him. You, 
youngster, kin see to miss while I git her paw. He’s 
not a thousand miles off, and if you want anything 
to eat thar’s the door to the pantry.” 

This was quietly said, while Florian kept his keen 
eyes fastened on the speaker. For to him this 
hunter had always been a mystery because of his re- 
tired life and taciturn disposition. When he went 
out Florian began a minute examination of the whole 
place. 

“ Why are you so inquisitive ? ” said Euth. ‘‘ Have 
you another theory concerning this man ? ” 

“ Ho ; but I wish to find one. He is an odd char- 
acter and ought to have a history, a romance — 
something that will give the key to his present posi- 
tion. Whence came he? Was he crossed in love? 
Did he commit a never-to-be-forgotten crime ? Has 
he friends ? ” 

“ ‘ Had he a father, had he a mother ? ’ ” said Euth, 
repeating all the delightful poem, while Florian ex- 
amined and talked, and finally sat down disappointed. 

Hot even a pencil-mark in these old works,” he 
exclaimed, “ nor a bit of writing anywhere, nor any 
indication of better days. Books on fishing and 
hunting ; a cabin like all of its class ; a man of fishy 
smell and look and speech — poor material to collect 
a romance from.” 

‘‘How, as to the look,” said Euth, “ I fancy there 
is something poetic about him. His eyes are clear, 
blue as the sky, well-shaped, large but for bushy 
eyebrows. He has a fine head and beautiful hair, 
but that cap spoils or hides all.” 


26 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


thought of nothing but the foolish father taking his 
risks of exposure and consequent sickness. She had 
a single eye for her duty, and the truth. Her own 
risks did not present themselves to her considera- 
tion. It was this one quality that had Avon for Huth 
the tender love of Linda, the regard of Pere Kouge- 
vin, and the devotion of Florian. 

It happened at the same time that she Avas Avell 
read and clever, that her complexion Avas good and 
her eyes large and expressive, and that she had ma- 
tronly ideas as to a young woman’s dress, speech, 
and behaAdor. The habit of ruliug the Squire, and 
looking after him had made her a responsible being. 
She Avas the mother of her own household at sixteen, 
and could have ruled and guided many a one as old as 
herself. Florian had reason to be troubled over the 
prospect of losing her. She loved the truth, and 
seemed to have little trouble in folloAving it. He 
often smiled as he thought with Avhat gentle but final 
persistence Puth would push him and the Avhole 
world aside if they stood betAveen her and the truth. 

Thinking of these things as he roAved across the 
bay he finally lost courage. He would not press 
her to a final decision that night. A little strategy 
and tact ought to be used even with so sincere a 
Avoman. A soft wind Avas rising, and the mist that 
fioated on the Avater Avas shaken apart to let the 
stars shine through. GroAving stronger it made 
great rents in the mist, Avhich remained open long 
enough to show the dark mass of an island and the 
lights on shore. 

‘‘ I am so glad you have come ! ” cried a soft voice 
from the shore, almost before he touched it. He 


THE ISLAND. 27 

jumped out, drew up the boat, and clasped the hand 
outstretched to him. 

“You are always so, Euth,” he said, with some 
reserve in his tones. “ What’s the trouble ? ” 

“ I have heard from my father,” she said. 

“ And his head is on his shoulders still, and no one 
has the reward ? ” murmured Florian regretfully. 

“ Scott, that queer hunter, came to me after sun- 
down,” Euth began, “ and told me that my father 
was hiding in a cave among the islands, and was 
anxious that I should send him some money. Scott 
Avas to bring it, but I told him ” 

“ That you Avould get me to do it instead,” Florian 
interrupted, “ and bring him some neAvs and help 
him to get out of the country.” 

“Not at all,” said Euth, “but that I Avould go 
myself, for I knoAV hoAV he wishes to see me.” 

“ Oh ! it is to be a night adventure,” said Florian. 
The fog Avas gone and the Avind was freshening 
rapidly. Dull clouds obscured the sky, but the faint 
starlight, shining doAvn in broken beams, showed 
ugly Avhite caps playing across the black waters. 

“ It Avill be a rough night ” 

“ Ah ! but we shall not be out all night,” said 
Euth, “and for an hour this Avind Avill be no stronger. 
But Ave must not delay, and I must get OA^er to- 
night.” 

“ Well, Avrap up and we are off.” 

He got the boat ready, a common yacht of ordi- 
nary size, and presently they pushed off, and in an 
instant Avere scudding like birds over the angry bay. 
In fact, the Avind was almost too much for the ves- 
sel, as some wild seas, Avhich partly drenched them. 


30 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ You are thinking of his magnificent surround- 
ings,’’ said Florian. “He looks well, because the 
image of him always carries this setting of nature. 
But matter rules this temple. There is no mind 
here.” 

“ Father,” murmured Kuth, slipping into her 
father’s outstretched arms as that gentleman entered, 
followed by Scott. The hermit smiled on the scene 
till, looking at Florian, he seemed suddenly overcome, 
and shuffled into a corner. 

“ Florian, a thousand thanks,” said the Squire, 
shaking hands violently with the youth, his face 
purple with emotion, restrained because the hermit 
had forbidden him to roar. “ She is yours, and you 
will guard her when I’m far away on the billow.” 

“ On your pillow ? ” cried Florian. “ Why ” 

“ On the billow, sir ! ” said the Squire. “ Ho 
tricks, sir ; I can’t stand ’em now. I mean, w^hen I 
am sailing for sunny France, take care of her.” 

“ I’ll go with you,” whimpered Euth, beginning 
to cry and patting his white head. 

“ Ay, that’s right,” said the Squire. “ Pat away. 
You may not know, my dear, how costly a piece of 
furniture that head of mine is now with two govern- 
ments after it. You’ll come with me ? Hot at all. 
You’ll stay here with Florian and go to France on 
your bridal tour. I’ll have a place for you. I’ll be 
the thorn of those two rascally governments. I’ll 
be lonely, I know, but I’ll make up for it by fight. 
There, there, little girl, just sit down and get sen- 
sible again. You don’t happen to have a pipe, 
Florian ? This man here don’t smoke — not enough 
fire in him for that.” 


THE ISLAND. 


81 


Euth made strenuous efforts to recover from a fit 
of sobbing, and her father lighted his pipe. Under 
its soothing influence he grew melancholy. 

“ When I’m in France, Florian ” 

“ But you’re not there yet, sir, and we don’t intend 
you shall go.” 

“ You don’t know the malice, the devilish what- 
d’ye-call-it, of these two governments. ‘ If we fail,’ 
says Mackenzie to me, ‘ we’re damned ’ — politically 
I mean. What’s the use ? I must go. I’m cut out 
for an exile ; I feel it all over me, along with the 
rheumatism, since I began jigging around these con- 
foimded islands. Hear that sigh? It attacks me 
regularly night and day.” 

Euth smiled. 

“ That’s right, dear,” said he. “ I know what 
you’re thinking of — that it will take many sighs to 
make the old man give up the last one. They may 
search and persecute, but I won’t lose a pound of 
flesh for ’em. Ho, sir ! ” 

‘‘ What do you think, Scott ? ” said Florian to the 
hermit. “ Isn’t there some way to get the Squire 
out of this muddle ? ” 

“ Muddle, sir ! ” thundered the Squire in a crescendo 
which sank to a whisper at the warning gesture of 
Scott. ‘‘You mean revolution.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Florian, “ revolution.” 

“ There is but one way that I kin see,” replied 
Scott modestly. 

“ You ! What do you know about it ? ” said the 
Squire roughly. “ Why, Florian, what can any one 
think of a man who says that it takes as much 
power in Almighty God to knock a thing into nothing 


32 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


as it did to take it out of nothing ? He says that 
and swears by it. Don’t you, sir — don’t you ? ” 
What I was thinking,” said Scott, ‘‘ this young 
man might go down to the Governor of the State 
and just settle the matter in a quiet- way without 
much talk ” 

‘‘ Certainly ! That ends it — a boy settles a revo- 
lution.” 

“ Xo, no, papa,” said Kuth. “ He means that 
Florian shall bear your submission ” 

“ I’ll never submit ! Weil, go on.” 

“ To the governor, and may be he will accept it, 
and you will not have to go so far away and leave 
me alone.” 

“ That’s the hardest part of it — leaving you, dear ; 
but what can I do — what can I do ? ” 

Scott beckoned to Florian, and they went out- 
side. 

“ You see,” said the hermit, “ as far as I kin learn, 
this country ain’t so much against the Squire as he 
thinks. It’s my opinion that if some friend went to 
the governor and said, ‘ Here, thar ain’t no earthly 
use in drivin’ an old man out of his senses because 
the British lion is roarin’ ; s’posin’ he gives hisself 
up, wouldn’t the government kind o’ parole him and 
let him stay at home while he keeps quiet ? ’ — that 
would settle the hull business, I ihinkP 

“ I think the same,” said Florian. ‘‘ We’ll per- 
suade him to give me the authority to treat for him, 
and you will be kind enough to keep him for a few 
days until I return.” 

“ In course, in course ; he’s welcome as long as he 
stays.” 


THE ISLAND. 


33 


‘‘ You have a nice place about here,’’ said Florian, 
desiring to draw him out. ‘‘A little lonely, per- 
haps ? ” 

“ Somewhat, but I like it,” answered the man 
simply. “ I couldn’t stay in your towns now, and 
there isn’t another place in the world I’d exchange 
with jist at this moment.” 

“ You have not had much experience in towns ? ” 

“ A good deal,” said Scott, reflectively ; “ but not 
for a long spell. I crammed a pile of fact into a 
short spell and got tired mighty soon. It’s always 
the way, even here, I notice, though you don’t get 
tired so quick, nor you don’t stay that way long. 
When I get all out of sorts, be it night or day, I 
walk out on this island, and that’s enough for me : 
I’m quieted right off, an’ me and everything in the 
world seems to suit one to t’other. I look at them 
stars a-shinin’ an’ a-twinklin’ so easy and careless up 
thar, an’ then see ’em looking the same in the water, 
with a little tremble.” 

Florian had waked the hermit into a quiet enthu- 
siasm, which showed itself only in the quantity of his 
words ; for as to animation of gesture, or look, there 
was none. He thought it a fair opportunity to put 
a few leading questions. “ I do not wonder at such 
feelings,” he said, “ for I have often thought that 
such a life would be a second paradise.” 

“ It is, it is,” interrupted Scott, earnestly. I de- 
clare to you I never knew what happiness really 
was till I lit on this place.” 

‘‘ But its disadvantages are so many,” continued 
the youth, “ and loneliness is the first. Then when 
sickness overtakes you, or feebleness, the comforts 
3 


34 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


of companionship, and particularly of religion, are 
wanting.-’ 

“Well, about religion I can’t say much,” taking 
the youth by the arm and beginning to walk up and 
down, “ for I don’t s’pose I’ve got a good pile of it. 
I don’t care for the comforts of companionship. I 
have never suffered half as much from lonesome 
feelin’s here as in the world. There’s nothin’ stands 
between me and God but this, boy ” — and he beat 
his body. “ And God is here,” he added reverently, 
“ and who can say that he is lonely with such a Bein’ 
round ? I can’t. I found out when I was like 
you that you’ve got to be alone most of the time. 
Those you think most of are very near, but they only 
show you that you can’t git any mortal man or 
woman as near your heart as you want. God only 
can fold you right up and satisfy you ; and He’s all 
I want or expect.” 

“ I have often thought of trying it for a time,” 
said Florian — “ this life. I love these scenes so. I 
love the beautiful solitude of such a night as this — a 
solitude so full of voices that but for their harmony 
you might think yourself among men. But old ties 
are hard to break. You, perhaps, had no such ties 
to hold you to the world.” 

“ I had my ambitions,” said Scott, “ but a breath 
blasts those foolish things. I had a few hearts 
bound to mine kind o’ strong, but death makes short 
work of sich. No, of course I mightn’t have had as 
many as you, but 1 had enough, I reckon ; but still 
I got over ’em, and they never trouble me now.” 

“ How did you happen to get a liking for this 
kind of life ? Was it very hard at first ? ” 


THE ISLAND. 


35 


“ IS'o, it was never hard. I was kind of broken 
up and took to it for health’s sake ; then I stayed in 
it, and I’m goin’ to stay in it till the end, if I can. 
Some morning they’ll be lookin’ for me and they’ll 
find me dead. I’ll be buried thar, I trust, whar the 
old house stands — unless,” he added playfully, “ the 
angels of the island will bury me quietly themselves, 
for I love ’em well, as they know.” 

“ You are deserving of such a burial,” said Florian ; 
‘‘ no man has ever paid such honor to nature as you 
have in this section. I would like to be present 
when they bury you.” 

“ The world doesn’t come in to such funerals,” 
Scott answered, laughing, so you needn’t expect 
to. Hadn’t we better go in now and try to win 
over the old man ? ” 

“ One moment, Scott. I am going to ask a favor 
of you which you must grant me. I like this soli- 
tude and I like you. Will you permit me to come 
here sometimes and stay a week with you, and fish 
and hunt and talk with you ? It will be only for a 
short time, as I will soon be going off from this 
place.” 

The hermit listened with patience to this bold 
request. 

“ I don’t invite any one here,” he said reservedly ; 
“ but if you want to you kin come on conditions. 
You’re not to talk about me to any one as long’s 
you live ; and as to your cornin’, remember I don’t 
invite any one, and they can’t come too seldom.” 

Without waiting to receive Florian’s thanks for 
so concise and negative an invitation, he went hastily 
into the cabin. Kuth had reconciled her father to 


36 


SOLITAKY ISLAND. 


the proposition of an embassy of peace to the gov- 
ernor, and from considering the woes of exile the 
hearty Squire had passed to the contemplation of a 
homely yet safe future, and he was ready with all 
sorts of advice for his young ambassador. 

“ Don’t stoop, Florian — don’t yield an inch. 
They’ll be glad enough to listen to you when they 
hear your message. I’d rather an older man would 
go ; but you have the ability, and ’twill be an opening 
for you. You’ll get acquainted with the nobs, and 
a slight hint that you’re related to me won’t do any 
harm. A good deal may come of it. Kevolutionists 
are the style of this age, and you reflect some of 
their glory. Mackenzie won’t like it. He’ll be in 
jail, and I’ll be out ; but pshaw ! Why didn’t he 
have gumption enough to hoe his own row in Canada ? 
I did my share on this side. I’ll be blest if ITl do 
any more.” 

“ That’s the way I look at it,” Scott began. 

“ I don’t want you to look at it,” snapped the 
Squire. “What do you know about the matter? 
Get correct ideas of Almighty God, before you 
dabble in politics.” 

“ Good advice,” said Florian, “ if politicians them- 
selves will follow it.” 

“ Now, see here, Pen’l’ton,” said the hermit 
bluntly, “don’t you know you’ve made a fool of 
yourself in this matter ? ” 

“ Yes, of course I do. I admit it. Go on, con- 
found you ! A fool who wouldn’t make a fool of 
himself talking with you ! It makes me foolish just 
to look at you.” 

“ Sh ! ” cried Florian, with sudden and tragic em- 


THE ISLAND. 


37 


phasis. A death-like silence fell on the place. Kuth 
threw her arms about her father, and the hunter 
blew out the candle. 

“ I’ll reconnoiter,” said he, and stole away. Not 
a word was spoken until he returned. 

“ I think all’s square,” he said, relighting the 
candle, ‘‘ but the best thing to do is to git to bed, or 
the next warning might have some meanin’ in it. 
You, Miss, can have this room here, and take the 
candle along. Your paw an’ the youngster kin take 
the floor with a blanket.” 

Euth took the candle and kissed the Squire good- 
night with an anxious face. As she was passing 
into the room Florian whispered : 

“ Don’t be frightened. I only did it to stop the 
argument.” 

She laughed and went in. 

“ There’s your blankets,” said Scott, throwing 
them on the floor. “ Good-night.” 

And without paying any attention to their pro- 
testations, he opened the door and was gone. 

‘‘ A nice fellow, but glum,” were the Squire’s last 
words as he glided into the bass of an all-night snore. 
Florian himself was already asleep, and his dreams 
were very beautiful when the moon looked in through 
the little window of the cabin and shone on his up- 
turned face. It seemed to him that a sublime figure 
stood beside him. It was an angel, before whose 
radiance the moon grew dim, and his broad wings 
stretched from horizon to horizon, long spears of 
brilliancy. On his face rested a smile so heavenly 
that Florian stretched out his hands to invite his 
embrace. The angel stooped and kissed him ; he 


38 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


felt the cold lips and the cheek on his own, and at 
once felt all his glory departing. With a cry of 
sorrow he awoke. All was stillness around him, 
and the moon was smiling through the window. 

“ A dream worthy of the place,” said Florian. 
“ I’m going to see the island at two o’clock of the 
morning.” 

He jumped up and was preparing to go out when 
a low moan met his ear. It was smothered and dis- 
tant, yet the agony was so exquisite that a sudden 
tremor of fear seized him. He tried to locate it, but 
in vain, and hurried out into the open air. The 
moaning never ceased for a moment, and the anguish 
was so keen that Florian ran hither and thither, but 
no trace of the cause could be found. The huge boul- 
der on which the cabin stood was searched on all 
sides. Away from it the moans grew fainter, yet 
around it they seemed far off and smothered, and he 
continued the search until they died away entirely. 

The charm of the night was far beyond the praise 
of words, so weird, so unreal, so supernatural was 
every tint that the moon’s delicate brush laid on the 
canvas. For an hour he sat on a bench that over- 
looked the river. He heard a noise below him at 
the river’s edge directly under the boulder. Tak- 
ing the shelter of a bush that grew there, he 
looked down to see the' hermit quietly standing 
there with his eyes turned to the sky. He was 
weeping, and his face was pale. Florian drew back 
and fled softly to the house. He had no wish to play 
the spy, however great his curiosity, and as he lay 
down his heart was full of a great pity for this lonely 
man. 


CHAPTEK lY. 


THE SICK ROOM. 

Before his departure for Albany Florian seemed 
so satisfied about his relations with Kuth that Linda 
forebore to question him. But she gave Buth no 
peace until she had worried some information con- 
cerning their midnight adventures. 

“We sailed to that little island where Scott lives/’ 
said Buth, “ and sailed back again. There was noth- 
ing more to it.” 

“ Where is the island ? ” said Linda. “ What is its 
name ? ” 

“ It has none that I heard of. It looked so lonely 
and small that I named it Solitary Island in my own 
mind.” 

And so the island was thereafter called by all who 
were concerned in the Squire’s escapade. 

“ I must go see it some time,” said Linda. “ And 
Florian did not get spiteful once the whole evening, 
nor say harsh things, nor get moody ? ” 

“ Why should he ? ” 

“ Well, he was in a queer state of mind that night,” 
said Linda, “ although he didn’t show it, nor tell me 
why. I thought something was going to happen.” 

She said this so roguishly that Buth blushed. 

“ I see I must out with the whole thing, you stub- 
born heretic,” Linda went on. “ How tell me, please, 
39 


40 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


haven’t you and Florian come to any agreement 
about your future life ? ” 

“ Long ago,” said Euth. 

‘‘ But that’s the old story,” pouted Linda, “ it was 
‘ if ’ here and ‘ if ’ there. What I am dying to know 
is, if you have done with ‘ ifs. ’ ” 

Eo,” said Euth briefly. 

“ Then his heart failed him at the last minute, for 
as sure as Florian rowed across the bay so sure was 
he of ending suspense that night,” said Linda ; “ and 
I must say I am glad of it, for while you remain on 
the fence, Euth, he will put off his departure for 
New York.” 

“ He will not have to delay long,” Euth said. “ I 
am pretty near a decision now.” 

“ You are going to stay on the Methodist side. I 
can tell it by the length of your face. And you so 
sensible, so tender about public display, and all that. 
I credit you with better sense. Well, I’ll go to see 
you sit on the conviction bench and hear you shout 
glory when the spirit seizes you.” 

‘‘ There are Methodists and Methodists,” said 
Euth, meekly. 

Forgive my impertinence,” Linda pleaded. 

You would make Mormonism sweet if anything 
could. I shall not pester you with questions any 
more, but leave everything to time and le hon Dieu. 
But oh, my heart is just bound up in the idea of 
being your bridesmaid, and it will break into little 
bits if I am disappointed.” 

Florian returned from Albany successful, and 
the girls met him at the depot. “ It’s all settled,” 
said he. “ All your father has to do, Euth, is to 


THE SICK ROOM. 


41 


deliver himself up to the marshal, when he will 
be released on parole and no further trouble given 
him.” 

“ How can we ever thank you ? ” said Kuth tear- 
fully ; for her anxiety had been very severe. 

“ It was none of my doing. The governor was 
only too glad to hear my proposition, and there was 
no diplomacy required. I had dinner with him 
afterwards, and found out the true inwardness of 
the whole matter.” 

“ 1 should have been there,” said Linda. “ I do 
so want to dine with a governor ! What a place 
this is — not a distinguished man in it ! ” 

“ And what did he say to you ? ” asked Kuth. 

“ So many things that it will take some time to 
relate them. When we have had dinner you shall 
hear every word.” 

But events had been happening in his absence of 
a week, and before dinner his mother felt urged to 
call them to his attention. Mrs. Winifred was full 
of anxiety with' regard to many things, but never 
found it necessary to make any parade of her feel- 
ings before her family. 

‘‘ Seemingly, dear,” she said to Florian, who was 
most patient with her, “we’re going to have trouble 
in various ways, and I was wondering if you 
noticed anything.” 

“ Did you notice anything, mother ? ” said Florian. 

“ Well, I can’t say that I did, but it’s hard some- 
times to decide. Now, there’s Linda ” 

“Linda?” said Florian, smiling. “I wasn’t 
aware there was anything the matter with her.” 

“ No, to be sure not,” said she, abashed that no 


42 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


other had found anything amiss with Linda ; “ but 
seemingly, Florian, she doesn’t eat much, and she 
grows thin and white with everyday ; but of course 
I’m wrong.” 

“No, you’re not, mother,” said Florian, jumping 
up. “I did take notice, not so very long ago, 
either.” 

“Then, Sara,” began Mrs. Winifred with more 
hesitation — “ I don’t know. I’m not sure, but 
seemingly she’s quite indifferent to her religion 
lately. I may be wrong ” 

“ No, no,” said Florian ; “ but that’s a gentle way 
of saying a very serious thing, mother. Go on; 
you’re not wrong.” 

“ She has a great liking for Mr. Buck, seemingly ; 
of course I wouldn’t say that she had, but her 
actions — and then if your father saw anything 
Avrong he would be put out.” 

“ I should think so,” said Florian ; “ and Sara 
would be locked up, as she must be, I fear, before 
this unhappy affair is ended. She hasn’t enough 
mind to know Avhat religion is, and I fear — I 
fear ” 

He passed into a meditation without finishing the 
sentence, and tapped the table with his fingers. A 
sob aroused him. Mrs. Winifred was weeping and 
was plainly ashamed of herself for the action. 

“ Well, I don’t think the matter requires ” 

“ I knoAV it,” said she ; “ but then I couldn’t help 
thinking of her being a minister’s Avife, seemingly.” 

“ Time, time,” said Florian, “ giA^e me time and 
I’ll move Mr. Buck in another direction. He is 
afflicted with the desire of converting us all, Pere 


THE SICK ROOM. 48 

Kougevin included. Was the Pere here to see us? 
Does he know of the matter ? ” 

“ISTo,” said Mrs. Winifred. 

“ I must tell him, then. He is good at devising 
sharp maneuvers. Perhaps he will think of some- 
thing. But now Linda must be looked after. If 
we lose that flower ” 

lie went out to hunt her up, without flnishing a 
sentence whose import he did not realize while he 
thought of it. Linda was eating grapes in the 
garden. 

“That looks well,” thought Florian, and called 
her to the veranda. “You are to come with me 
this afternoon,” said he, “ and make one of the 
Squire’s triumphal procession homeward. Here, 
what’s this? You are too pale. And why does 
your dress fit so loosely, Miss ? I noticed it a week 
ago, and to-day I noticed it still more.” 

“ I never fatten till winter,” said she soberly ; 
“ and then I am thinking a good deal lately.” 

“ Sleeping, you mean. What about ? ” 

“ About your visit to 'New York, Florian,” she 
said, holding up some grape-leaves to shade her face. 
“ You needn’t hide it. I know you’re more than 
ever determined on going there, and I was think- 
ing how I should amuse myself when you were 
gone.” 

“I won’t deny your assertion, Linda, but my 
going is far off. There are too many obstacles in 
the way.” 

“ I know them, and I feel wicked enough to wish 
they would stay in your way a long time. What 
nonsense,” she added, “ to borrow trouble ! While 


44 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Kutli wavers and Sara is under Mr. Buck’s spells 
we shall not lose you.” 

“You remind me of my chains,” he said smiling 
to hide his real annoyance. “ And there is another 
more binding than they.” 

She looked at him inquiringly. 

“ I won’t tell you. Be content that while Kuth 
wavers and Sara affects Mr. Buck I shall remain 
— and then longer, perhaps,” he said sighing. 

Linda stood looking and thinking at random, and 
questioning why these things should be. In a few 
months the most perfect object of the perfect scene 
would make part of it no longer. That sun and sky 
above her ; those marvelous islands, whose perfumes 
the fresh winds fanned to the shore ; that water 
whose beauty was beyond that of jewels ; the quaint 
town, so old and so clean and so loved, its white- 
headed and dark-headed people, its green foliage and 
autumn fruits, its bells and sweet and harsh noises ; 
the stars that besprinkled the river firmament as 
well as that of heaven; the ghostly moon, the white- 
winged boats, and a thousand other loved, familiar 
things, would all be just as they were to-day and 
last night, but her brother would be gone. Xay, 
there was a time when she herself would make no 
part of the scene, and yet the glories of it would re- 
main ; newer eyes would gaze upon it and see, per- 
haps, all that remained of her — a white stone in the 
graveyard, and a name. How could that little world 
of which she was the center ever get along without 
her? Would it not be strange to feel that Linda 
Wallace lay out of sight in the earth, and children 
played thoughtlessly on her grave, and no one spoke 


THE SICK BOOM. 45 

of her more ? She began almost unconsciously to 
weep. 

“ This is all there is of earth,” said she, ‘‘ and one 
might as well live in a desert. Heaven is the only 
thing worth striving for.” 

“ A correct sentiment,” said Florian. “ Dry your 
tears and come in to dinner. Your liver is plainly 
out of order when you become so religious.” 

She laughed and went in with him, and was gay 
enough for the rest of the day until the boat was 
fitted out and the three were sailing to Solitary 
Island. The wind was quite fresh at three o’clock 
in the afternoon, but not too much so until they en- 
tered Eel Bay. There some caution was required 
up to the very landing-place in front of the hermit’s 
dwelling, for the wind blew straight down the chan- 
nel. It was very awkward of Florian that he should 
have thrown his hat into the air as the hermit and 
the Squire both came to the door. 

He was so vain of his good news ! 

“ Look out, boy ! ” said Scott and the Squire to- 
gether. 

But it was too late. The boat capsized and threw 
the crew into the rough water. There being no 
danger, the Squire raged and became profane. The 
girls both swam into shallow water and were helped 
ashore, laughing and yet a little frightened. Florian 
was cast down with shame. 

‘‘ The house is open to you,” said Scott, “ and you 
young ladies had better light a good fire and dry 
your clothes or you’ll ketch a tall cold. And when 
you go a-sailin’ again jes’ look out who runs the 
boat.” 


46 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ It never happened before,” muttered Florian, 
“ and I’d give my right hand if it had never hap- 
pened.” 

“ There it is,” said Scott ; “ mighty big pay for so 
little value. ’Twon’t hurt the girls. Pm sure.” 

“ I’m not,” said the youth briefly, as he looked ap- 
prehensively at Linda climbing the rock in her wet 
clothes. However, they appeared at sundown with 
clothes dried comfortably, and none the worse for 
their ducking. Florian had also put himself in 
proper shape and was entertaining the admiring 
Squire with his account of Albany and its notables. 

“ Ah ! Florian,” said he, “ there’s where you should 
be, among kindred spirits, among the high-fliers.” 

If I were a young man ” Scott said. 

‘‘ But you aren’t — you never will be. When you 
were, you didn’t foUow your own opinions ; so what 
use to inflict them on the young fellow, who doesn’t 
care a button for your solitary way of living \ ” said 
the Squire. 

“ I don’t want the lad to live solitary, Pen’l’ton,” 
said Scott ; “ let him double up, if he wants to, but 
let him stick to Clayburgh and happiness. He’ll go 
wrong sure, if he gets out into these dizzy conven- 
tions. He hasn’t got the right — well, I don’t know 
what to name it, but here’s the place for him to 
thrive.” 

“ Theory, theory ! Scott, I’m obliged to you for 
what you’ve done, and if I could make you a sensible 
man I’d do it ; but I can’t, so call and see me and 
Ruth — she’s sweet on you — when you feel like it. 
Come, girls — home, home to that confounded govern- 
ment.” He ran down the shore to the boat after 


THE SICK ROOM. 47 

a hearty handshake with the hermit, while Kuth 
poured her gratitude upon the solitary. 

“ It’s all right, Miss,” said he. “ I’m content, and 
I hope you’ll pray for me that I may never be more 
unhappy than I am now. Go ahead. I’ll call to 
see ye some time.” 

He stood on the rock in front of his house long 
after they started. 

It makes me lonely to look at him,” said Linda — 
“ we going to our cheerful homes, he to his solitude.” 

“ He is like a man dead,” said Florian. 

The next morning Linda awoke with a high fever 
and a slight cough as the effects of her wetting the 
day before, and Florian felt a severe twinge of grief 
as he saw the extreme pallor of her countenance and 
its faulty bloom. She had taken a chill during the 
night, but a little addition to the bed-clothing had 
banished it. Ho alarm was felt. In healthy people 
these little irregularities occur and pass away, and 
so it would be with Linda. Mrs. Winifred, however, 
was anxious. The girl was not strong, she said ; a 
doctor could be easily summoned ; and then no one 
knows what might happen. 

Youth laughed at these anxieties until pain crmie 
to add its warning — pain in the lungs sharp and 
distressful — and the cough grew more racking with 
every hour. Towards night it grew serious. They 
tried their old house remedies and wished to treat 
her illness as a cold, a mere cold, which youth and 
health throw off so easily. But in vain. Linda 
grew more feverish and caught her breath more fre- 
quently. She was banished at last to bed and the 
doctor called in. 


48 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


There is his knock at the door. Every one looks 
cheerful on hearing it, and the physician, smiling as 
he enters, gruffly desires to know what people have 
been doing to get sick this fine weather. Why, 
even the old are full of silly thoughts of escaping 
this year’s rheumatism ! And Linda there with her 
brows contracted with pain ! Pshaw ! nonsense ! 
Pain in the lungs? How do you know it’s the 
lungs? What do women know about the lungs? 
Lungs, indeed ! Pains when you breathe, hey ? Ah ! 
where have you caught cold ? Ducked in this 
weather? Yacht upset? Who upset it? Never 
mind who ? But I will mind, and I’ll call him a 
donkey, an ass, a mule, to upset a yacht with a 
woman in it ? Why not have drowned at once in- 
stead of coming home to take a pain in the lungs, 
and get a fever and a pulse at one hundred and 
ten? Why go out on the water in stormy wea- 
ther ? 

“ Why do anything naughty and nice ? ” says 
Linda between two frowns of pain. 

‘‘ There’s Eve over again,” says the doctor, writ- 
ing out prescriptions with a laugh. “ I’ll call at two 
o’clock in the morning,” said the physician. “ I’m 
going out ten miles into the country, and I’ll call 
coming back : have the door open for me. Good- 
night, Miss Linda. You had the ‘ nice ’ yesterday ; 
you are having the ‘ naughty ’ to-day.” 

Outside he looked significantly at Florian. 

“Pneumonia,” said he — “not necessarily fatal, 
but apt to be. FoUow my directions to the letter 
until I return. We may bring her through.” 

Florian stood holding the door and looking out 


THE SICK ROOM. 


49 


into the glowing autumn night. The cheery voices 
of sailors came up from the river, and the lights at 
the mastheads shone like colored stars. He was hot 
and disturbed. Linda’s days were over perhaps, and 
that one dear obstacle to his ambitions was to be 
removed by death. He went in again with a smil- 
ing face, and ran against Mrs. Winifred crying 
silently. What could he say? Death was bitter 
enough, but she was to suffer death so often that he 
hastened on into the sick-room and left her uncon- 
soled. 

“ Shall I stay with you,” he asked, “ or do you 
prefer to sleep, Linda ? ” 

“ I can’t sleep,” she answered with a hushed voice ; 
“ and if I doze it is better to have some one near and 
the lamp burning. I am very ill, Flory, and I am 
afraid.” 

“ Afraid, dear ? ” trying successfully to steady his 
voice. “ Afraid of what ? ” though he knew right 
well the cause of her fear, and trembled because of 
its truth. How sad he would feel if death stole on 
him so suddenly, and he so young ! 

“ Of death,” she answered. “We talked of many 
things, Florian, but never of that, never of that ? 
And it is so hard to die. Tell me something of it, 
Florian ; you have read of it many times.” 

“ If you are near to it,” said he, “ your own feel- 
ings can tell you more than books or men. Mostly 
the dying are indifferent to the agony, particularly 
where they have led good lives or innocent lives like 
yours, Linda.” 

“ Yes, yes, I led an innocent life,” she said simply. 
“ Thank God for that ? Innocence is something.” 

4 


50 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ It is all,” said Florian; “ it has never known sin, 
and does not know suffering. But what a subject 
for a patient who is to get well. It would be better 
to go to sleep ; or shall I read to you 

“ Bead to me, Flory, and talk as you read.” 

He went down to his study to select a volume. 
There were many books in his possession and he 
knew them all by heart ; dangerous books none of 
them,, only the best and purest grain of the world’s 
harvest. What should he select ? 

“ Hothing too pious, for that would frighten the 
poor child; nothing frivolous, for that would not 
suit the condition of one so near death.” 

He walked suddenly to the window choking. “ Do 
I realize it, Linda, that I may lose you ? ” 

He took out Bona venture’s Life of Our Lorf and 
when he had gone to the sick-room and had an- 
nounced the story of the Passion she was not sur- 
prised at the subject. 

‘‘ It is so appropriate,” she murmured : ‘‘ I am 

having my passion.” 

He read to her until her eyes closed in uneasy 
slumber, and then sat watching the flushed face and 
thinking. Mrs. AVinifred was the only other person 
who came near the sick-room, and she was unable to 
control her tears even under Florian’s sharp reproof. 
She remained a great part of the time in self -banish- 
ment, and he dwelt alone in the sacred silence of a 
sick-room. Linda was fond of white and light colors, 
and her chamber was fitted up accordingly. In the 
dim light it looked like a dream. Her pale fore- 
head and flushed cheeks on the pillow were more 
an outline than reality. It scared him when he 


THE SICK ROOM. 


51 


thought how short the time until they might be on 
another pillow in the graveyard. 

“ Linda ! ” he called suddenly in an overflow of 
anguish. She awoke with a start, and at the same 
instant he heard a carriage at the door. 

“ The doctor has come again, dear,” he said. “ Did 
I frighten you ? ” 

“ E'o,” looking around in amazement, and then, 
with a sigh, realizing her sad position. 

When the news went out of her dangerous illness 
a number of friends called, but Kuth and Pere Kouge- 
vin alone were admitted along with the doctor, and 
seeing them Linda began to fear because of all the 
trouble in her behalf. Three visits from a doctor in 
so short a time, one from the priest, and the distant 
sound of doors closing so frequently, with many little 
circumstances to which she had hitherto paid no 
attention, were at the least ominous ; and even while 
they stood about her smiling cheerfully, she closed 
her eyes to keep back the bitter tears that would fall 
in spite of her determination to be brave and hopeful. 
They understood the reason of the grief, and could 
say nothing. 

Sara, coming in as her sister’s tears were falling, 
was impressed, as only her shallow soul could be 
impressed, with a wild fright that prompted her to 
scream. Fortunately she restrained the inclination, 
since it was purely personal, and a little thought 
convinced her that it was another’s, not her own 
death-bed she was attending. Pere Kougevin pre- 
vented a scene by banishing the whole company, him- 
self included, from the room, leaving Kuth to attend 
the patient. 


52 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“Wait,” said Linda, feebly. “ If I am going to 
die I must get the sacraments.” 

“ I can do nothing more than hear your confes- 
sion,” said the priest ; “ you are not in sufficient 
danger for the reception of the others.” 

The look in Linda’s eyes was a very pleasant one 
at this precise, official declaration, and it said clearly 
that she regarded Pere Kougevin, stout, flushed, and 
short though he was, as an angel. 

“ I thought I was dying,” she stammered. 

“ I^onsense, child ! But you may die, and it’s 
well to be prepared,” he said. “ You must be ready 
to live or die, as God wills.” 

“ Alas ! ” murmured Linda, with a fresh flood of 
tears, “ I am only too willing to live.” 

“ There’s no sin in that,” was the sententious re- 
mark, and she proceeded with her confession. 

“ I must be very bad,” she said to Kuth afterwards 
when they were alone. “I am terribly afraid of 
dying.” 

“ Who is not ? ” said Kuth. “ And then it is so 
near us always. I have tried to get used to the 
thought of it, but I can’t. I suppose it does indi- 
cate a lack of some good religious feeling that we 
ought to have.” 

They were all surprised one day at a visit from 
Scott, the hermit, Avho Avalked in as informally as a 
friend might, and found his way to the sick-room. 
In his solitude Scott looked picturesque, mth his 
rough ways and dress, and curly red hair ; but in 
the dainty sick-room he was as much out of place as 
an Indian in full war-paint. All were startled, and 
Mrs. Winifred so much so as to lose her senses. Old 


THE SICK ROOM. 


53 


habits are strong, however, and she offered him a 
foot-stool instead of a chair, vainly feeling for its 
absent back while her eyes stared rudely but help- 
lessly on the apparition. 

“ No, thank ye. I’ll not come in,” said the hermit, 
with his eyes fixed on Linda. “ I jest heard the little 
girl was sick, and I thought it might have been the 
duckin’. I’m glad you’re better. Miss. Take care 
of yourself. Good-morning.” 

He was off in an instant, but Florian seized him 
almost rudely and pushed him into his study. 

“ You are very kind,” said he, “ and you must not 
go until you are thanked and hear all about Linda.” 

“ She’s gettin’ Avell,” said the hermit. “ I reck- 
oned so from her eyes.” 

Scott began to examine the books in the room 
with interest. 

“ All of ’em good, sound ones,” he said, “ if their 
names mean anything.” 

“ Would you like to borrow some ? ” said Florian. 

“ No, thank ye ; I han’t no need of ’em, but I’m 
right glad to see you with sich books. I guess I’ll 
be goin’ ; I’m kind of hasty in my call, but usually 
I don’t make any.” 

“ We’re so obliged to you,” Florian replied, “ and 
would be very glad to see you again.” 

The hermit made no remark as he left the room 
and ran against Mrs. Winifred outside in the hall. 
The lady evidently wished to say something but was 
disconcerted at the right moment. 

“ What is it, mother ? ” 

Linda ! ” gasped Mrs. Winifred — “ the gentleman 
— seemingly ” 


54 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ Oh ! Linda would like to see you again before 
you go, Scott.” 

“ Anything to oblige the young miss,” said the 
hermit, and he followed Florian into the sick-room. 

“ I wanted to thank you,” whispered Linda ; “ you 
are very kind. Send me some wild flowers — the 
very latest.” 

“ You’ll have ’em to-night. Miss,” said the hermit. 
“ Good-day, ma’am — good-day.” 

And he hurried awkwardly from the room. 

“ I shall call on you soon,” said Florian as they 
parted. He merely bowed gravely and walked away. 


CHAPTER Y. 


ON RETREAT. 

Linda during the next two weeks continued to 
improve, and by the middle of October was sitting 
cheerfully, in the warm parlor, with every soul in 
the house and many more out of it her devoted slaves. 
Choice flowers came from Mr. Buck, through Sara, 
to call back the summer to her room and have it 
live again in their sweet perfumes and gay colors. 
Squire Pendleton brought his fearful voice daily to 
her court and related over again the new and old 
phases of his political exile. Ruth’s gentle touch 
and sweet eyes were there most frequently, and 
most welcome ; and Pere Rougevin and Florian 
made up a background of spiritual and physical 
lights that were very dear to the sick girl. When 
she arrived at this stage of returning health, Florian 
make ready to visit the hermit for a week’s hunting 
and fishing. “ More for the purpose of studying the 
hermit,” he explained to Linda, “ and learning the 
secret of his happiness, if there is any.” Linda took 
up a bunch of ferns arrived that morning from the 
kindly solitary, and buried her face in it. 

“You but waste your time,” she answered, “as 
far as he is concerned. Still he is a good mirror. 
You will certainly learn something about yourself.” 

She said this in the tone of a hint, which Florian 
received with a laugh that discovered him. 

“ Your sickness has made you sharp,” he said. 

55 


56 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“Well, let me confess, I do go to study myself. 
What then, Cassandra ? ” 

“ Cassandra, indeed ! ” she pouted, and then sur- 
prised him with a sob and a few tears. “ I am so 
weak yet, Florian, and I know you are only going 
to ask his advice about leaving here. I want you 
to promise that you will tell me every word.” 

“ I am not so certain that he can or will advise 
me, Linda. ISTor would I be apt to follow his advice 
if it went against my own desires. But I promise 
you, my dear ; and you are quite right. I am going 
on my retreat.” 

He sat looking at her with troubled eyes. He 
never looked at her otherwise since sickness first 
struck her down, and his first sensation of real grief 
was gnawing at his heart as he thought of what he 
would lose in losing her. And unconsciously, too, 
he was studying the course of feeling in her bosom, 
the gradual ripening certainty of death which, amid 
doubts and fears, was already blooming in the girl’s 
heart and soul. Ambitious as he was, death had 
always appeared to him as a monster who might at 
any time destroy his ambitions. He had never yet 
come in contact with it. But now it had seized most 
surely on Linda, and he watched its process with a 
sort of fascination that sickened body and soul, and 
crowded his dreams with terrors. He must come to 
this one day. How soon ? 

It filled his heart with a disgust for life that all 
his days he must walk under the threatening shadow 
of that greatest misfortune. Why live and work at 
all when death might shatter the handiwork of years 
at one blow ? The reasoning was poor and foolish, 


ON RETREAT. 


57 


but his melancholy had to find vent. The day 
shamed his melancholy by its magnificent joy. The 
wind was not strong enough to roughen the water 
into ugliness, but white caps lay along the deep 
green of the river, and, like the foam at the mouth 
of a wild beast, gave a suspicion of the cruelty that 
lurked below. Against Eound Island’s rocky and 
flat shore the waves beat with monotonous murmur- 
ing, and distant Grindstone showed dimly through 
the mist. Across Eel Bay the afternoon sun sent a 
blinding radiance. The islands about were still in 
somber green, for very few maples found a foothold 
in the rocky soil. Their warm colors of death 
relieved the dark background. The swish of the 
water from the bow, the brightness of the sky, the 
somber shores, the green waters, the whistle of the 
wind, and the loveliness of the scene passed before 
his senses and became inwoven with his melancholy. 
There was a bitterness even in the cheerful day. 
When he arrived at Solitary Island the hermit was 
away. He took possession of the hut, and, finding 
some remnants of the Squire’s tobacco and a pipe, 
made himself at home and began to inspect one of 
the notable volumes on fishing. Scott returned 
shortly and gave him a cool reception. 

“ How do ? ” he said shortly, bringing his brows 
together and sending a sharp look into his face. 
“ How’s the little ’un ? ” 

“ As before,” Florian answered wearily. He had 
made up his mind that no behavior of Scott’s would 
drive him away until he had accomplished his pur- 
pose. And Scott saw it in his easy manner, and 
seemed willing to submit to the intrusion. 


58 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“She bade me thank you for the ferns,” said 
Florian, “ and if it would not be asking too much, 
would you call and see her as often as you visit the 
town, and would your visits be often er made.” 

“She is kind,” was all Scott replied, and set about 
getting supper. Florian made no offer to help him, 
but walked out on the boulder with his book and 
pipe, and gave his attention to the long shadows 
that crept through and over the islands and the last 
feeble whistle of the dying winds. Far away east 
glimmered a single star. 

“ Supper’s ready ! ” called Scott in a few minutes, 
and Florian sat down to a table of Spartan sim- 
plicity — boiled corn-meal and fish. It was speedily 
ended, for neither seemed to be hungry nor disposed 
to talk. The hermit sat silent, and Florian was de- 
termined to interfere as little as possible with his 
humors. He ate less than a child. 

“ I have met him at an unlucky time,” thought the 
youth ; “ he is ill and out of sorts.” But he said noth- 
ing whatever, relighted his pipe and took his seat on 
the boulder over the river. For a few minutes there 
was the clatter of tin dishes as the solitary cleaned 
them and put them away, then he came out and sat 
beside Florian. 

“I am going away,” said Florian simply. “I 
wanted to talk with you first, and so came over.” 

The stars were coming out more rapidly, as if a 
mist were being swept off the sky, and the shadows 
lay very deep around. The water in the channel, 
like a wizard’s mirror, changed from dark to bright 
and back again, as if veiled forms swept up and down 
beneath the surface. 


ON RETREAT. 


59 


“ And so you are going away ? ” said Scott, pres- 
ently. 

“ I should have gone long ago. Clay burgh is no 
place for one who looks to a future. I am smothered 
and cramped for a better element.” 

“ Your dreams are too big for your brain. Six 
feet of earth hold a man comfortably when he’s not 
full of nonsense.” 

“ But it takes an eternity to hold the soul.” 

“ JSTot as I understand it, boy. It’s not the soul 
gets cramped with such quarters as ye have here. 
It’s proud notions of one’s body : what it should eat 
and wear, how it should look to others, an’ the nice- 
ness o’ bein’ better than its kind. People don’t go 
looking for eternity to New York. Them who 
found it suited to their constitutions hunted in nar- 
row caves an’ monks’ cells for it, long afore New 
York was known to a soul.” 

“ I won’t dispute your assertions. But what would 
you have me do ? I am young and ambitious. The 
world must go on as it has from the beginning. Why 
should not I take place and part in it, using my tal- 
ents for the good of the many ? I have no inclina- 
tion for any other kind of life, and there I feel that 
I shall do the most good.” 

“ Why not ? ” echoed the hermit wdth a touch of 
sarcasm, perhaps. “ Saints did the same often, I’ve 
heard ; but they made their talents and high power 
a means to an end. With you it will be the end. 
With the big majority these good things of the 
world are the end. The man that looks after his own 
soul keeps away from ’em till God calls him to ’em.” 

He rose suddenly as if he had spoken too much 


60 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


and was just aware of it. There was no moon, and 
Florian could not see his face nor discover what 
mood accompanied these words, but he would have 
given something to catch the light of his eyes at that 
moment. 

“ You can have the hut to yourself while you stay,” 
said Scott, starting off down the shore. 

“ Thank you,” Florian said quietly, and was 
tempted to ask him to remain, but adhered firm- 
ly to his determination and kept his mouth shut 
grimly until the sound of oars down the channel had 
ceased. It was chilly and dark on the island. There 
was no wind, only the gentle plash of the waves ; 
and the odd, mysterious sounds, which break the 
vast silence of nature, quivered on the air. He could 
see nothing but outlines and the shining surface of 
the water. Like an inverted bowl the sky arched 
over him. He knew that for miles there was no 
living man, and he was in utter darkness and soli- 
tude ; and it seemed to him that he was left nothing 
to look upon but his own soul. He was too sad to 
endure thought at that moment, and began to bustle 
about, lighted a candle in the hut and put on a fire, 
closed the doors and fixed the curtain to the win- 
dow. 

The October nights were cold and left a touch of 
frost in bare places. When the sun opened his eyes 
the next morning at an early hour, and Florian 
looked through the window on the scene without, 
there was a silvery whiteness on certain objects, 
beautiful but depressing. An army of individual 
mists was rising from the river, and every object was 
bathed in so fresh and deep a color that it seemed 


ON RETREAT. 


61 


to have just been laid on by the great Master’s hand. 
He dressed and bade a hasty good-morning to the 
hermit, who was getting the breakfast, and ran out 
on the boulder to say his prayers in the midst of that 
sublime scenery. He prayed aloud, and never in his 
life did prayer seem so sweet, so real, so refreshing. 

“ Grub,” said the hermit, briefly, from the door- 
way, and he went in composedly after that ethereal 
flight heavenward. The meal passed in silence. 
When it was over, “ I’m going for pike this mornin’,” 
said Scott, briefly. 

Florian took this for a gingerly invitation, and 
coolly removed himself, his pipe, and his book to the 
boulder without answering. The hermit busied him- 
self in preparing his boat. 

“ Would you like to come ? ” said the solitary. 

“ I have much to think of,” he replied. 

“ Better get town cobwebs from your brain first. 
The flshin’ is good, an’ if ye are going away ’twon’t 
be many more chances you’ll have after the world’s 
pike take your time.” 

“ To-morrow will do, Scott ; much obliged.” 

“ Ko, I’m in-doors to-morrow.” 

Next day, then.” 

“ Not at all if not now,” said Scott, and if his 
voice was not sharp his words were. Florian was 
surprised at his urgency. 

“ Oh ! if you are determined,” he laughed, and 
came down, book and pipe, to the boat. They rowed 
through the channel out into the broader space that 
opened into Eel Bay — or rather the solitary did, for 
Florian lay in the stern idly smoking. 

Said Florian, “ Why in the name of heaven, Scott, 


62 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


don’t you write poetry ? I couldn’t stay in these 
solitudes an hour without finding words to paint 
some of its beauty.” 

‘‘ It is like grief, boy ; no words can express it.” 

And then a shade came over Florian’s face, for his 
mind went back suddenly to Linda. 

“ At this hour,” he said, “ Linda is taking a look 
at the new sun that will shine for her only a little 
longer.” 

‘‘ Poor little girl ! ” muttered the hermit, giving a 
harder puU to his oars. 

“ But what of that, Scott ? She goes to heaven 
safely, I know, and her agony will be trifling to her 
recompense. I would not care but for that other 
dying at the same time, not in her body but in her 
soul.” 

“ It is one of the world’s chances,” said Scott. 
‘‘ She will marry the minister and come to believe what 
he will preach day and night for her sake. There is 
no fixin’ sich accidents.” 

You seem to know all about the matter, Scott.” 

“ It is town-talk, lad. Ye brought it up yourself 
as if ye wanted my opinion, an’ I gave it.” 

“ Well, I didn’t want your opinion,” he said ; “I 
wanted to know what you would do in such a case 
as that of my sister’s. If she wishes to marry Mr. 
Buck I see no way of preventing her, unless it be by 
stratagem. It is not so much love of the minister as 
a romantic silliness that prompts her to marry.” 

“ If you want stratagem,” said Scott, “ see Pere 
Bougevin. That’s my whole and only opinion on a 
family matter. Jes’ hand up the minneys, will ye, 
and I’ll drop the line yonder.” 


ON RETREAT. 


6S 

The strong colors of the early morningthat glowed 
around him only added to his melancholy. He 
merely raised his head and smiled when Scott 
landed his first pike, a handsome five-pounder, and 
felt none of that joyous excitement which such an 
incident raises in the heart of the true sports- 
man. It was as if life had come to a standstill 
Avith him because of the tangle in his affairs, and he 
Avas borne away through a fairy region of indiffer- 
ence. 

Before noon the hermit had landed a feAV dozen of 
the shining pike and Florian had dreamed the hours 
aAvay. Hot unprofitably, perhaps, for he had arrived 
at the sensible resolve that he would make no attempt 
to Avin Scott’s confidence, but let the man display 
himself as it pleased him. And was he to spend the 
hours as he had spent the forenoon, in useless imagin- 
ings and doleful picturings of his future troubles? 
He took the rod after dinner and began to Avhip 
the Avater Avith an energy unnecessary so far as the 
fish Avere concerned, but he wished to show himself 
that he Avas in earnest. He had come to fish, hunt 
and study the hermit. The true Avay to do all this 
was to fish, hunt, and study at the proper times, and 
Scott implied by secret smiling that he conjectured 
his course of thought. As a consequence, when 
night found them again on the plateau in conversa- 
tion the hermit was quite humorous and fluent and 
inclined to talk of anything. When Florian made 
bold to tell him something of his present sorrows he 
was sympathetic. 

‘‘ I am afraid there is little real warmth in my 
nature, Scott. I contemplate Linda’s death, and 


64 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Sara’s apostasy, and separation from Euth with a 
light degree of sorrow, and I foresee how I shall 
work all the harder afterwards.” 

“ A young man’s feelings,” said Scott, ‘‘ are not 
to be depended on. Wait till all these things hap- 
pen, and then you’ll find how you’ll take ’em. It’s 
much like a man in consumption. He will die in 
four years, the doctor says. He’s resigned, and sur- 
prises himself by not thinking o’ death often at all. 
When death gets hold on him, though, he finds his 
former feelings weren’t much. Now, I think your 
Linda will die and Sara marry the minister, an’ ye’ll 
go to New York without Euth. An’ it isn’t so 
much these things that ought to bother a man as his 
steppin’ out inter life an’ takin’ a choice of labor. 
He ought to see that he got the right place. He 
ought to be sure that he couldn’t do better in all 
ways whar he is than thar. People are hasty 
about things of this kind. Money is the object an’ 
high position. If they get these, life is complete. 
If not, they’re lost. They don’t think much about 
the soul. They drag it anywhere, quite sure it can 
get along. Some people there are who will be 
damned for studying medicine, an’ they might hev 
known it before. An’ political ambition will damn 
others, jes’ as I think it will damn you.” 

“ I would like to know your reasons for such a 
thought,” said he. 

“ Mostly because your weakness will be pretty 
well edicated and your strong points let run wild in 
politics, but entirely because you are cut out for 
another situation.” 

“ You interest me,” said Florian. “ Pray what 


ON RETBEAT. 65 

are the weaknesses and the strengths, and the other 
situation ? ” 

“ A young man about to make a jump for such 
big prizes ought to be ashamed to ask sich questions 
from any man. Ye came here to study yerself. Do 
it : I’m off. A pleasant night to you. I’ll not see 
ye to-morrow.” 

Florian sat silent until the sound of oars had been 
lost in the distance. It was such a night as the pre- 
ceeding one had been — the earth all darkness, the sky 
pierced with starlight, and a cool south breeze be- 
ginning to wake strange murmurs from the shore 
and the trees. A few clouds lay like shadows on 
the horizon, and above and below was that beautiful 
stillness, so beautiful yet so painful, like that which 
lay about the prophet waiting on Horeb’s rock to 
hear the still, small voice of God. It seemed to 
Florian that some voice must be born of such an 
agony of silence ; perhaps it was born, and his ear 
too coarse to catch a sweetness so 

“ Fine that nothing lived ’twixt it and silence.” 

Those were sharp words the hermit had uttered, 
and they shed a new light on the youth’s mind. 
What an idea was this, that some men could be 
damned for studying medicine ? Yet it was true, he 
admitted, when he found the proper sense of the 
words. And might not he be placing himself in such 
a position ? He was humbled to admit that, after 
all, he did not know himself nor had studied the 
every side of his ambitions. How far was he pre- 
pared to go, in seeking position and name ? The 
kingdoms of the world and the glory of them were 
5 


66 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


sometimes easily bought by falling down to adore 
Satan. How would he withstand such a temptation ? 
He hardly knew, but stole to bed crestfallen. The 
sound of the morning rain woke him from a very 
sweet sleep, but when that mournful patter reached 
his ears the conversation of the preceding evening 
recurred to him and a desolation crept upon his 
spirit. 

“ Was there another life for which he was better 
fitted ? ” 

That other could be but a retired life in Clay- 
burgh with its safe but respectable dullness, and 
Florian dismissed it with a savage snort as he dressed 
himself. He felt instinctively it was no life for him. 
He got breakfast, lit his pipe afterward, and sat in 
the open doorway singing at the mists that were 
closing in around him and the melancholy murmur 
of the rain. How long and how often such a dismal 
scene had been played upon the island ! Perhaps a 
generation previous a group of savages had sat in 
their smoky wigwams on this very spot and looked 
grimly on such a rainfall, making weird fancies out 
of the mists and preparing charms against their fatal 
powers! And all these were dead! Linda was 
dying ! Old affections of his heart were dying ! The 
very scene about him was showing symptons of de- 
cay. In fifty years at most he too would be dead. 
What difference then between him distinguished and 
influential and the unknown hermit ? W ould wealth 
and station and influence be more than the simple 
pleasures of the solitude ? And it was a doubtful 
matter if the statesman blessed by his country would 
stand as high as the hermit in the esteem of God ? 


ON RETREAT. 67 

Well, well, what queer thoughts were these in a 
young man. 

The next day towards evening Scott made an 
unlooked for appearance with a bright eye and a 
flushed cheek. 

“ I’m goin’ to take possession of the bed,” said he 
“ and you must shift to the floor. I’m ill.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Florian, quite surprised that the 
hermit should make such an admission, but asking 
no questions. Scott had taken cold and was in a 
fever, and the youth rejoiced that fate should have 
thrown them together at a critical time. He was 
handy about a sick bed, woman-like in his gentleness 
and skill and power over his tongue. He made him- 
self master of the situation at once and proceeded to 
treat the patient according to his own ideas. Had 
he discovered the true way of dealing with the her- 
mit ? Scott made no objections to anything he said 
or did, but seemed rather pleased with him. He 
was sick until the third day, when he became con- 
valescent and began to turn to the old routine of 
cabin-work — meal-preparing, mending, and reading. 
It was raining still and the mists lay heavier on the 
island world, and Florian had by intense and desul- 
tory thinking wrapped his mind in mists so profound 
that he felt a positive desire to fly to the town. 
Therefore on the fourth evening he announced his 
departure for the next day. 

“ And I hope,” said Scott, “ that you got some 
benefit from the close study of yourself, and that 
you can pretty well answer the question ye asked me 
when ye first came. 

“ I shall go to Hew York,” Florian replied, come 


68 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


what may. I shall not trouble myself with much 
thought hereafter, for I find it confusing ; and as to 
studying myself, my blunders will do that, and my 
enemies and friends.” 

If you wait to know yourself that way, my lad, 
very good ; your political life will be short.” 

“We must run some risks, Scott. Anyway, I have 
got enough of solitude, as I have of Clay burgh, and 
I see nothing in my strength or weakness to tell 
against success in my chosen life. On the contrary 
I find myself longing for it. I shall be alone, I sup- 
pose, and for a time grief-stricken, but life will be 
there and will ; while you will fish and sleep in this 
prison and groan over your rheumatism. Before 
going it would tickle my vanity to know your esti- 
mate of my character, and a hint, just a hint, of that 
situation you spoke of the other day.” 

Florian had no expectation of receiving an answer 
to his request, and turned to the window through 
Avhich he could see a break in the cloudy sky and 
the gleaming of a few stars. It was a dreary scene 
and his heart was full of its dreariness. 

“ I’m not anxious to disturb your good feelings,” 
said Scott. “ Y ou are bound for to go, and your 
blunders will teach you better than my words. I 
can fancy how you won’t know yourself ten years 
from now, and I propose that when you go home to- 
morrow you sit down and write an account of yer 
present feelin’s and opinions, and leave it with me. 
I’ll see that you git it to read ten years from date. 
You’ll be surprised.” 

“Done,” said Florian eagerly, delighted beyond 
measure at this evidence of the hermit’s interest 


ON RETREAT. 


69 


in him. “I’ll make it minute in essentials, my 
friend.” 

“I s’pose. All the worse for you an’ maybe 
you’ll not be astonished and ashamed readin’ that 
paper in days to come. I had an idee of a man 
gentle and quiet, whose mind was jes’ like the water 
on a still night, deep, clear, sweet, and full o’ heaven 
an’ the bright pints in it ; who’d settle down to a 
steady, pious, thinkin’ life, writin’ fine things for 
other people to read, cornin’ nearer to God every 
year and bringin’ others along with him, till he’d be 
so ripe for heaven as to fall into it from this world, 
jes’ as natural as a ripe apple falls to the ground. I 
had that idee, but it’s gone ; and I mentioned it jest 
to show ye what a stranger thought o’ ye.” 

“ I’ll put that down too,” said Florian, thought- 
fully, “ and it might be interesting to read at the 
same time as the other. I’m much obliged to you, 
indeed ; but it doesn’t suit, and never would.” 

That was the end of the conversation. The hermit 
and Florian retired to rest with their usual indiffer- 
ence to each other and in their usual silence ; but 
the youth was so charmed at his fancied success in 
winning the solitary’s interest that he fell asleep 
thinking of it, and dreamed that the honest man rose 
in the night, and stooping over his bed kissed him 
gently two or three times, as his father might. He 
was weeping, for the tears fell in a shower on Florian’s 
face, which set the youth to laughing, he knew not 
why. At this he woke. Everything was still save 
the patter of the rain on the roof, while the hermit 
was sleeping gently as a child. 


CHAPTER YI. 


DEATH. 

Flobian found a suspicious lull resting on the 
home atmosphere of Clay burgh. Linda was quiet 
and happy, to judge from her manner and look. 
But there was no mistaking the sudden agony that 
seized him as he kissed her on his return. The blood 
leaped to his head in a blinding way, the tears 
pressed like a torrent to his eyes, but only a few 
drops fell, and dry sobs struggled in his throat and 
bosom. Did she understand the cause of such emo- 
tion ? A tender look on her pale face, a shadow in 
the sweet eyes that threatened at once to dim them 
forever, were what had taken away his self-command 
so violently ; and, as if it were but natural that he 
should so act, she drew his head to her breast, and 
placing her cheek against his soft hair, smoothed it 
with her delicate hand until the storm of grief had 
spent itself. When he looked up again both under- 
stood one another perfectly — Linda knew at last that 
she was dying ! 

“ How is Scott ? ” said she. “ I have done nothing 
but dream of him since you left.’’ 

“ He sent you his very best esteem,” said Florian, 
“ and is to call on you soon, and all the flowers and 
herbs and grasses the islands afford are to be sent 
you. You have charmed him, Linda.” 

“ I do not know why he has been so much in my 
70 


DEATH. 


71 


thoughts lately, but his red beard and keen eyes have 
haunted me pleasantly for two weeks. Probably 
because you were there with him. And what did 
he say to you? You know you promised to tell.” 

“ He told me, very much like a fortune-teller, that 
I Avas cut out for a quiet life, and fitted to write 
beautiful things for the million. And when I told 
him my tastes ran in any direction but that, he said 
many people are damned for studying medicine or 
taking up politics, and he thought I would be too.” 

Linda’s old nature, though softened by illness, 
rose up at this declaration and she laughed herself 
into a fit of coughing. 

“ Well, well ! what an idea,” she said. “ But it is 
true in part. There are less temptations in such a 
life as this than in the life of a public man. Florian, 
I want to be so sure of meeting you again that what- 
ever you choose be faithful to our religion and true 
to God, and never forget Linda. I don’t care Avhere 
I would be, I think I would feel so unhappy if you 
and I were not to meet again.” 

He could say nothing, but clasped her hand 
gently. 

“ And what were your own thoughts ? ” she asked. 
“ How did you follow out your idea of a retreat ? ” 

“You remember the crowd we saw at the re- 
vival camp-meeting ? I have been in the condition 
of that crowd since I left, all turmoil and excitement, 
and my solitude put on so loud a personality before 
I left that I was less at home than in a ball-room. 
I got enough of the wilderness. I prefer a prison.” 

She shook her head deprecatingly. 

“ You made a blunder somewhere. You had no 


72 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


system. You were prejudiced from the beginning. 
Well, no matter.” 

Florian grew suddenly uneasy. He had some- 
thing to say, and could not command himself to say 
it. She saw his emotion and understood it. 

“ You must not think,” she said, ‘‘ that I am afraid 
or very sorry to die, and if you have anything to 
say you must be very frank with me.” 

“ While we are together, Linda ” — how very dear 
that name had become to him, that he hung on it as 
if it were sweetest music ! — “ whatever wish you 
have concerning me I would like to know and fol- 
low it.” 

“ I will tell you all soon enough,” she said, and 
for the time she ivas too weary to speak more. He 
sat beside her holding her dear hands and looking 
into the pallid face. The changes made by death 
were very painful. It had robbed them of the dear 
girl even before the soul had fled, for this was no 
more the Linda of old times than a stranger. She 
fell asleep soon, and he saw how completely death 
had seized her. The hollow eyes and j)arted mouth, 
the wasted hands, the feeble but labored respiration, 
were all eloquent of death. She slept sweetly, in- 
deed, so sweetly that he could not help saying the 
angels were round her ; but her eyes were only closed 
in part and it awed him to see how she seemed to 
look on him with her senses locked in slumber. And 
this was death ! And just like this one day he 
would be, pale and hopeless and helpless and forsaken, 
the most neglected and the most respected of his 
kind, his uselessness protected in the sight of man 
by the overstepping majesty of death. 


DEATH. 


73 


The day after his return Linda remained in bed, 
and to her mother’s inquiry replied that she would 
never rise again. Mrs. Winifred accepted the posi- 
tion in her quiet way, but her silent despair brought 
the tears into the girl’s eyes. 

“ There is no pain in dying,” she whispered, “ but 
in leaving you, mother.” 

From that moment she began to fade so gently 
that it seemed as if an angel, incapable of suffering, 
had come in her place to die. Florian did not leave 
her day or night. Ruth was often there, and Sara, 
her father, and the strong- voiced Squire, for she 
liked to see them all about her as in earlier, happier 
times, and to hear their jokes and bright sayings 
and pleasant gossip, and to imagine that she was 
just going to fall asleep for a little while, and, wak- 
ing again, would find them all just as she had left 
them. Every day came a bunch of forest treasures 
from the hermit, mosses and rare leaves and bright 
red berries. He did not come himself, but her bed 
was so placed that she had a full view of the bay 
and the islands, and often saw his canoe or yacht 
flitting from one point to another. In the lonely 
nights Florian and Mrs. Winifred sat alone in the 
room, dimly lighted by the night lamp, and talked 
or read to her in her waking hours. When it be- 
came painful for her to speak at length, she con- 
tented herself with watching him for hours, as if 
studying out some difficult problem. 

“ Florian ! ” 

‘‘Yes, dear.” 

“You will be very much afraid to die.” 

“ I trust not, Linda.” 


74 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ But you will, I know, and I want to tell you that 
it is not as hard as we imagine. Only be good, do 
good, and it will be very easy.” 

“ I shall try with my whole heart, Linda.” 

“ You will not marry Kuth ? She is good, 
Florian.” 

“ How can I,” he replied with some bitterness, 
“ when my own good sense and hers, and Pere Rou- 
gevin, are opposed to it ? If she be not a Catholic 
I must be a Protestant. 

“ You will not forget, Linda, that you are to tell me 
your wishes before — before You said you would. 

“ I only want to be sure of meeting you all again,” 
she said. “ You are very good, Florian, now. Prom- 
ise me you will never grow worse, only better ; that 
you will never cease to think as you think now; 
that you will always remember Linda.” 

“ Is that all, dear ? ” he answered, with something 
like reproach. 

“ All ! ” she repeated. “ Oh the old, old spirit of 
confidence. If you do that, Flory, if you do that 

much ” She ended with a smile, and after a little 

added : “Be careful of Sara ; be kind to her, and 
save her if you can.” 

Those were almost her last words to him. Early 
the next morning Pere Rougevin anointed her and 
gave her the Yiaticum, the whole family and Ruth 
being present. Around the house that day fell the 
heavy curtains of death, invisible yet felt, shedding 
everywhere a funeral sadness. In her white cham- 
ber she lay with half closed eyes drinking in the 
colors of the scenes she had so tenderly loved. The 
end was very near — so near that at any moment the 


DEATH. 


75 


light might fade from her face and the gentle breath- 
ing cease. Out on the blue waters the western sun 
was shining in a long bar of light broken often by 
the passing clouds, yet shining out every moment 
just as bright as before ; and this shifting movement 
of the light occupied her attention. Mrs. Winifred 
alone was with her. In her meek way she supplied 
her needs and silently anticipated her simple wishes, 
and was so rapt in her dying child that she did not hear 
the knock at the door without or its repetition, or 
the steps which ascended the stairs, and entering the 
room in a quiet but abrupt way, suddenly presented 
to her the uncouth hermit. Mrs. Winifred was rather 
exasperating on such occasions. She was frightened 
and her face showed it ; nevertheless she made no 
sign, and was meeker than usual when Scott rather 
imperiously waved her aside and took Linda’s hand 
in his own. 

So it happened Florian found him half an hour 
later in the same position when Mrs. Winifred came 
to hurry them all to the death-room — for death-room 
now it had become, since Linda lay like an infant in 
the arms of the king at last. At last and forever ! 
There was no recall, no further hope. The girl’s 
face bore a new expression, the seal which God first 
placed on Abel’s young face, the protest of the body 
and the soul against sin’s merited punishment, the 
reflected light from the torch of death ! Florian 
took her left hand and gazed composedly on her face. 
There was something strange in her manner ; a 
strange glory or triumph rested on her lips ; there 
was more color and fire in her cheeks and eyes; 
and now she turned from Scott to him and back 


76 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


again, looking like one hungry beyond words to tell, 
and looking yet again until death suddenly caught 
her weak breath and carried it to eternity and God. 
It was the first day of N'oveniber, at four o’clock in 
the afternoon, with the sun shining on the river and 
great clouds rising in the east, that Linda died. 

A month after Linda’s burial it was snowing, and 
you could not see the houses on the next street. It 
promised to be a heavy snow-storm, not unusual for 
that district, and the dwellers by the river settled 
themselves comfortably for six months at their warm 
firesides. The Wallace home was gloomy and dis- 
ordered. Florian in his own room was busy packing 
clothes and books for an immediate departure to 
New York, and he was working with feverish haste 
and unnecessary care. A knock at the door inter- 
rupted him and his mother entered at his bidding, 
calm as usual and the hair smoothly arranged over 
her placid cheeks. She was nervous, however, and 
distressed. Did he know what had become of Sara ? 
It was rumored that she was married to Mr. Buck 
the preceding evening. Mr. W allace had heard it just 
then in town. Florian could not but smile at Mrs. 
Winifred’s calm acceptance of the ridiculous facts, 
and thought she must have perceived their absurdity. 

“ She went to Euth’s, probably,” said he. “ And 
who would blame her for leaving so lonely a house ? 
But as to the story, don’t you trouble yourself with 
such nonsense.” 

Mrs. Winifred, however, did not like to think it 
nonsense any more than she liked to doubt Florian’s 
conclusion. 


DEATH. 


77 


“ Does father believe it ? ” said Florian. 

“ He is going to inquire of Mr. Buck himself, 
seemingly. If the minister denies it, he will come 
back ; but if he does not, Mr. Wallace will smash 
and cut everything in his way.” 

“ Let him,” said Florian grimly. If it be true. 
I’ll second him. Then, paying the damages will 
teach him sense.” 

Mrs. Winifred sighed and cast a meek look at the 
trunks and boxes scattered through the room. 

“ Yes, I’m going, mother, at last,” said he. 
“ There is nothing here to hold me, is there ? And 
as soon as I get settled I shall take Sara to keep 
house for me until she gets over her folly. I would 
prefer her following Linda than Mr. Buck. A 
monument is more satisfactory over one than an 
Episcopal meeting-house, even if it is ” 

He kicked things around noisily and drowned the 
short, sharp burst of grief that followed his sarcasm. 
The door-knocker was going vigorously when silence 
was restored. Mrs. Winifred hastened to admit the 
callers. Her voice was strangely agitated as a mo- 
ment later she called Florian to the parlor. He 
found her pale and trembling at the foot of the stairs 
and shaking as if with ague. 

“ It’s true,” she repeated. “ O Linda ! ” 

“ What’s true ? ” said Florian roughly, as he threw 
open the door violently and strode in frowning. 
Mr. Buck was there as painfully correct in costume 
as ever, and beside him Sara languishing in her 
mourning robes. One glance was enough, but Flo- 
rian pretended not to understand. 

“ I thought it would be but fair,” said Mr. Buck, 


78 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


‘‘ to let you know of the relations which now exist 
between your sister and myself. We were married 
last evening at the rectory in presence of the officials 
and the leading members of my church, who under- 
stand the peculiar circumstances which led to the 
ceremony at so sad and unfavorable a time.” 

‘‘ It would have been better to have waited,” said 
Florian, aping a calmness he did not feel ; “ but I 
am not surprised, nor will any one be, I presume, 
with whom you are acquainted. My sister is of age. 
We have done our best to prevent what in itself is 
undesirable. Am I to understand that Mrs. Buck 
in adopting your name has also adopted your par- 
ticular religious views ? ” 

“ Not at all, not at all,” said Mr. Buck, vacantly. 
He was not prepared for so cool a reception. “ Mrs. 
Buck expressly stipulated that she should be allowed 
to attend her own church on alternate Sundays, and 
after consultation with friends it was allowed.” 

“I congratulate you, Sara,” said Florian sadly, 
for this smote cruelly on his heart. “We have done 
our duty towards you. I hope you will be happy. 
I am going to-morrow for good, so good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,” said Sara, shedding a few tears. Her 
shallow soul was beginning to see that her brother’s 
generous nature and high motives had been sadly 
misunderstood. 

“ I was intending to bring you with me,” Florian 
continued smiling, “ and have you preside over my 
house ; but that plan must be laid aside. You will 
excuse me now, Mr. Buck ; I am busy.” 

The incident had a depressing effect on Florian 
beyond the power of words to tell. He had mas- 


DEATH. 


79 


tered himself very thoroughly at a trying moment, 
but physical weakness added itself to his mental des- 
olation, and left this new sorrow very hard to bear. 
His packing was ended before night, however, and, 
having despatched his boxes to the depot, he went 
on foot around the bay to Squire Pendleton’s. The 
Squire was in his study smoking, and listened to 
riorian’s tale with much commiseration and delight. 

“ It’s a great pity your father didn’t meet them,” 
said he. “ It’s a reflection on the family to have 
such a goose in it. Here, Euth, come in and hear 
the news.” 

Euth came to the door at her father’s shout. 

“ You couldn’t guess,” said the Squire. “ Sara’s 
ffone an’ done it at last ; married the parson last 
night.” 

Euth was shocked so violently that she grew quite 
pale, and stammered out : 

I knew they would marry, but Linda’s death, I 
thought, would make a difference. Poor Linda ! ” 
That hurt me most,” said Florian, with a wan 
smile ; “ but it was done very respectably. The 
whole congregation was called in and consulted. If 
they did not marry then, while we were taken up 
with sorrow, it might become impossible to marry 
at all. The circumstances as they saw them justified 
the action. 

“I am going to-morrow,” he added. He was 
glad to have this opportunity of speaking to Euth 
alone, and of discovering, possibly, whether fate had 
any more stones to throw at him. 

“ I knew you could not endure life here,” she re- 
plied with much feeling, “ after so many sorrows.” 


80 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ The one thing I most regret is that I cannot 
bring you with me, Kuth. You must know,” he 
went on hurriedly, “ that a very little time should 
decide for you and me whether we part or unite 
forever. In a year, if you say it, I v/ill come back 
for you, Euth.” 

“ I fear I can neyer say it,” she answered quite 
calmly ; “ and I fear too, we have been wrong in ex^ 
pecting confidently what it is God’s alone to give^ 
I have studied your faith, and I find I have a liking 
for it. It is beautiful indeed, but it does not seem 
to me to be the true one.” 

Fate had thrown its last missile. He was unable 
to speak for a few minutes. 

“ There is a year yet,” he said at length ; “ you 
can decide better at the end of that time, perhaps.” 

“Perhaps,” she repeated. She was very calm, 
simply because she had gone over this scene many a 
time in the past few months. “ But I think it would 
be better to end now.” 

He was so pale when she looked at him that her 
good sense faltered. 

“ Have we ever really loved each other ? ” said he 
brokenly. “ Do you know, Euth, that if you per- 
sist we shall never meet again.” 

“ I know it,” said she. “ I will wait for a year, 
if you wish. We have been always under a restric- 
tion, you know, and I feel as if it made truth harder 
for me to learn, because you were to be the reward 
of my lesson.” 

“ I release you,” he said, rising. “ I release you, 
Euth, from any obligation to me. You are right — 
you always were. Good-bye — forever.” 


DEATH. 


81 


They shook hands, and with this simple ceremony 
his first love ended. Was he tempted to go back to 
his paradise and take her as she stood, difference of 
faith included ? The thought did occur to him, as 
would the thought of flying. With a sad smile at 
its impossibility he faced the dying storm. His feet 
turned unconsciously to the grave in the churchyard, 
and falling upon it, he moaned : 

“ O Linda ! all our good fortune went with you.” 

“ Hot all,” said the hermit’s voice near by. 

lie looked up and saw Scott. He was covered with 
the falling snow, and must have been out long in the 
storm. Feeling ashamed of such a display of weak- 
ness, Florian rose and staggered away in silence. 
What the hermit never before did he did then — 
stopped the youth and held him. 

“ You’re not yourself, my lad,” he said, with a 
touch of tenderness in his voice. ‘‘ And I am told 
you’re goin’ away to-morrow.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Florian, “to-morrow. Thank God! 
I’m done with this place forever. There is nothing 
here for me but graves. You see, Scott, I have lost 
them all — Linda, Sara, and Kuth. And the one 
nearest to me — isn’t it strange ? — is the little girl in 
her grave. Yes, I am going, and I wish it was 
morning and the whole place out of my thoughts for 
good. I don’t care if I were dead.” 

“ There’s a difference between dead and dying,” 
said Scott grimly. “ You’d soon change your mind 
if death caught you. You forgot to give me that 
paper ” 

“ I’ll write it this very night,” Florian answered ; 
“ my last will and testament of the old life, and 


82 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


then hurrah for the new. God ! how completely 
we can be torn up from the roots and transplanted 
in new soil.” 

“ Bosh ! ” said Scott. “ You kin no more git rid of 
the old life than of yourself. Y ou’U think of all these 
things for years, an’ you’ll find them three women, an’ 
the water, an’ islands, an’ boats, an’ things, twistin’ in 
your thoughts and promptin’ your will until yer dead 
— almost. You’re a leeile apt to get sentimental.” 

Florian said nothing, a sudden daze came over his 
senses and he leaned heavily against the hermit, with 
his face upturned to the snow-clouded sky ; and it 
so happened that the hermit’s beard brushed his 
chin and the weather-beaten cheek lay for an instant 
against his own. 

“ Faintin’, hey,” said Scott. “ You’ll have a spell 
of sickness.” 

“Not at all. I was thinking of Linda’s last 
words. They are a good motto as well as a prayer : 

‘ That we may meet again.’ Good-night, Scott, and 
good-bye. As usual, you are right. The old life 
shall not out for the new.” 

He went hurriedly down the road. 


CHAPTEE YIL 


A BOHEMIAN. 

The attic chamber of Madame Dq Ponsonby 
Lynch’s fashionable boarding-house had one window 
with a view of all the back windows of the neighbor- 
ing block in its panes and a strip of exceedingly 
plain sky above. On clear days the E'orth Eiver 
was in sight, but at other times nothing till night 
came and stars or moon threw a glamour over the 
scene. Moonlight falling on the staring backs of 
tenement-houses is not a thrilling sight ; but shim- 
mering through the attic window, faintly lighting 
up its meager furniture, mixing lights and shadows 
fancifully until the narrow space becomes a stately 
castle-hall — then the moonlight is a blessing. It had 
that effect in this particular attic, and, although the 
air was cold enough to show the breath floating on 
it, where the light fell it looked warm, and almost 
persuaded Paul Eossiter that he was warm and had 
not sense enough to know it. A spectral bed with 
a white coverlet stood in one corner, a chair and 
desk littered with papers in another, and a stove sat 
reproachfully in the middle place, colder than the 
moonlight and darkly pensive. It had an apologetic 
air that it should be there at all on a cold night 
when a stove has most to say and do in this world, and 
be as silent and moody as Othello with his occupation 
gone. There was one picture on the wall, otherwise 


84 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


bare. Some clothes hung on the rack stretched across 
the door. These and the moonlight were all Paul 
Kossiter’s possessions, and he surveyed them cheer- 
fully while blowing his cold fingers and drumming his 
cold feet on the floor. He was writing, and writing 
was food and heat to him — that is, when his manu- 
scripts were exchangeable for silver. Unfortunately 
they did not always have that property. A sudden 
and imperative knock at the door startled him. 

‘‘ Open the door, b’y,” said a rough, deep, middle- 
aged voice outside. “ I know ye’re in, sure the key’s 
in the door. It’s me, Peter, and I have something 
to tell ye.” 

A long silence succeeded this outburst. 

“hTo admission to Peter!” said the voice in a 
mock soliloquy. “ Then, as sure’s me name’s Carter 
I’ll expose ye. D’ye think I don’t know why you 
are keeping me out, hey ? D’ye think I don’t know 
ye’ve no fire, or ” 

There was a sudden hurrying of feet, and in an 
instant the voice, or Peter Carter, as he called him- 
self, was violently pulled into the room. The lamp 
which he carried went out in the roughness of the 
encounter. 

‘‘ Do you wish to blazon me all through the house,” 
said Paul hotly ; “do you ” 

“ There was no other way of getting in,” said 
Peter ; “ and then ye needn’t be so proud. Hot a 
soul but knows the poor young man in the attic is 
as poor as the poetry he writes, an’ freezes as often 
as he composes ! Hot that they respect ye any the 
less, for if ye were rich as Croesus a poet’s a hybrid 
thing in Hew York. Let me light the lamp.” 


A BOHEMIAN. 


85 


Peter having performed this operation success- 
fully, relit his pipe and sat down in the glare of the 
light, composed and happy. He was a short, stout, 
bow-legged man of fifty, with a bullet head and a 
moon-like face. His hair, short and gray, stood 
straight as quills, his under lip protruded, a scar 
half-way between tip and bridge of his pug nose 
gave that feature of his face an ugly prominence, but 
his eyes were large and blue and sharp looking, and 
would have been handsome but for the smoky eye- 
balls. Peter’s general appearance was that of a red- 
faced, hearty farmer given to social courtesies and 
rolling in happiness. He was round-limbed and 
round-bodied, rolled in his walk like a sailor, was 
fond of a good song, a good story, and a good glass 
of punch. He took his seat, smiling at the angry, 
yet half-amused face, which Paul had turned on him. 

“ Be George, Paul,” he said, with a malevolent 
grin, “ but ye’re the very spit of a poet, with your 
long, yellow hair, and blue eyes an’ melancholy face ! 
An’t ye, b’y ? It’s nice to look at ye, it is. An’ sure 
it’s not mad ye are? Ye mightn’t have let mein 
if ye didn’t want to ! I don’t ask to come inter your 
old freezing room when I have one myself twice as 
good an’ warm. I’ll go now, if ye say so.” 

He made a pretended start and flourish with his 
legs, but did not move, and his jovial leer failing to 
charm the frown from the young man’s face, he grew 
indignant. 

“ Well, stay mad if ye are so. What the divil do 
I care for you or your madness ? D’ye s’pose I owe 
anything to you or to the likes o’ ye ? Hot a snap 
of me finger, ye half-starved verse-molder.” 


86 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ But it’s too bad, Peter,” said the poet, “ that 
you should let the whole house know I had no 
wood ” 

“ Ah, bother, man ! What d’ye care for the whole 
house, or the whole block, or the whole city ! Sure 
they know it already. And it’s your own fault that 
ye haven’t wood and candles ! Plenty o’ money, 
b’y, in this old sheepskin o’ mine ! Call on Peter any 
time you are in want o’ fifty dollars, an’ it’s yours. 
Plenty o’ money all over the world, plenty to eat at 
Madame Lynch’s. 

Never think of to morrow : 

With a smile banish sorrow.” 

“I was thinking,” said Paul gravely, “that I 
would borrow a little from you ” — Peter looked 
suddenly indifferent — “ and if you could let me have 
five dollars to buy some wood and necessaries I 
wouldn’t mind.” 

“ Wood and necessaries,” mocked Peter gayly — 
“ nice things for a young man like you, with strong 
muscles and warm blood, to be thinkin’ of. I tell ye 
you are twice healthier in a room like this than if ye 
had a stove blazing up to heaven. And candles hurt 
the eyes I Ye shouldn’t read after daylight, or use 
the eyes at all. See, now ? Doctor Brown says that 
the man who uses his eyes ” 

“ That isn’t the point,” Paul interrupted. “ I asked 
you for five dollars.” 

“ Doctor Brown says that the man ” 

“ ]^o, no ; stick to the point, Peter; will you lend 
me the five dollars ? ” 

“ Lend ye five dollars % ” said Peter, with a surly 


A BOHEMIAN. 


87 


air. “ Ye’re mighty anxious to run in debt, ain’t 
ye ? An’ I’d look well lendin’ a man money that 
can’t pay Madame Lynch his board. I have enough 
to do to support meself. Go and write for the news- 
papers something plain an’ sensible on the Know- 
nothings or — or — Ireland — there’s a grand subject for 
ye — an’ leave off reading an’ writing stuff ! There’s 
a pattern for ye on the first floor — the young lawyer, 
only been in the city a year, is spoken of for Assem- 
blyman already. He looks like ye, every one says 
so. May be you are related ? ” 

Paul sat eying his companion with amused dis- 
dain. 

“ I heard the assertion made about the lawyer’s 
likeness to me,” said he, “ but I have never seen him. 
How let us see how much of a resemblance there is 
between us. I have yellow hair, blue eyes, light 
complexion ; what has he ? ” 

“ Brown hair, brown eyes, and light complexion,” 
said Peter hesitatingly. 

“ I wear a mustache, and my nose is Grecian as 
well as my face.” 

“ He wears a full, short beard, and his nose is 
straight, if that’s what you call Grecian, Paul.” 

“ Where’s the resemblance, then ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; I don’t think there’s any. When 
you come to particulars you have us all. I thought 
you might like to know him. Be George, Paul ! he 
might get ye a lift on some paper, for he’s a rising 
man, makes speeches that take down the ward 
meetings. You’d like to know him, you would. 
He’s a Catholic of the strict kind, I think. Sure I 
know ye wouldn’t like that, but a little of your com- 


88 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


pany, poetry, and my punch would soon cure him of 
pious leanings. Come down now, an’ I’ll introduce 
you.” 

“ Go ahead,” said Paul, “ I’m ready.” 

Peter bounded off his chair and seized the lamp. 

“ The lawyer has Saturday night to himself,” said 
he. “ But do you stay here till I see if he’s in.” 

He went down the stairs with a slow step and a 
sober air, as if the task of visiting the strange law- 
yer was not a pleasant one ; and Paul, watching him 
until the light had faded to the first fioor, saw him 
stand hesitatingly there, then retreat and return a 
few times, and finally go slowly to his own room. 

“ O thou mass of contradiction ! ” he soliloquized, 
leaning over the stairway, and returned to his cold 
room to resume his writing, and blow his fingers and 
stamp his feet, and draw inspiration from the moon- 
light, which shone more brilliantly as the night 
strenghtened. A twenty-cent piece lying on the 
table gave him a new thought. 

He donned his overcoat and went out hastily. 
HoAvn on the first floor he met Peter just coming 
out of the lawyer’s room, his face aglow with pleasure. 
He seized Paul suddenly and with a jerk landed him 
inside the door. 

“ Here’s the twin,” said he. “ Be George ! I’ve 
fixed it all, an’ I’ll leave it to your own mothers if 
ye aren’t as like as sun an’ moon. Wallace, this is 
Kossiter, an’ I’m Carter, an’ we’ll raise — That’s 
right, Paul ; make yourself at home.” 

The two gentlemen thus roughly brought together 
smiled and acknowledged the introduction. 

“ Here we are,” said Peter recklessly, “ transported 


A BOHEMIAN. 


89 


from a garret to a palace ” — Paul stared — “ and all 
on account of the resemblance between a poet and a 
politician ! Paul, it’s pretty complete, isn’t it ? It 
must be a nice thing to be a politician to afford such 
luxuries, and not poor devils like you and me, writin’ 
bad poetry and editorials — hey, b’y ? Don’t ye feel 
proud of it ? ” said he, turning to Florian. 

“ Yery,” said Florian, “ since you think so highly 
of it.” 

There’s only one thing lacking,” said Peter — “ it’s 
rather dry.” And he twirled his thumbs and laughed 
at his own audacity. Florian began at once to un- 
derstand his visitor, and without further ceremony 
placed wine and brandy convenient to Peter’s elbow. 

“ Shall I help you to some wine ? ” he said politely. 

“ Wine ! ” said Peter, with a cough. ‘‘ Ah, bother, 
man! what d’ye think I’m made of? Well, yes, I 
think I will, if ye say so,” he added, seeing that 
Florian had poured it out quietly. “ I dunno, though. 
Had I better, Paul ? Paul, the pensive and poetical, 
with his long face and yellow hair 1 I don’t think I 
will. I won’t. It’s late, an’ it isn’t good to be 
drinkin’ before goin’ to bed ! ” 

Florian, amused, assisted Paul to some wine, and 
drank without saying more to Peter, who sat with 
his thumbs crossed and a gloomy expression on his 
spongy face. 

“ I am glad to have met you,” said Florian. ‘‘ Press 
of business only prevented me from introducing my- 
self long ago. I heard so often of our peculiar re- 
semblance that I was curious to see you, and no doubt 
you had similar feelings.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Paul ; and I often thought 


90 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


it strange we should have been months in the same 
house without meeting.” 

“ There’s a wide distance between the garret and 
the best parlor,” Peter broke in ; “ an’ seeing ye 
haven’t the politeness to ask the old fellow, I’ll take 
on my own account a mouthful. I hold a middle 
place,” he added, as he held up his glass to the light 
and eyed it tenderly. ‘‘ I’m the ground, as it were, 
on which ye two meet and exchange views of each 
other. 'Well, here’s to your future joys an’ sorrows ; 
may the wan strangle the other — m ! ” 

The last sound was the expression of Peter’s satis- 
faction as the fiery liquid, swelling in his throat, 
bulged his round eyes outward ; he shook his legs 
once or twice and then burst into a roar of laughter. 
His rough good-humor and oddities went very far to 
put the young men on an instant and happy level of 
confidence. It was impossible to sit so near a fire 
and not get warm, and in a very short time all stiff- 
ness was gone and they were talking with the free- 
dom and assurance of old friends. Meanwhile Peter 
fell asleep. 

“ Since our friend is gone the way of slumber,” 
said Florian, “ would you mind taking a walk before 
bedtime ? ” 

“ With all my heart,” Paul answered. “ Let Peter 
stay just where he is till we return. He’s an odd 
old fellow, isn’t he? And yet so kindly and jolly 
that you will forget annoying oddities and faults for 
the sake of his company.” 

They had an animated talk from the boarding- 
house to the Battery, and came quite unexpectedly 
on the open space out on the bay — so suddenly that 


A BOHEMIAN. 


91 


an abrupt pause in the flow of talk passed unob- 
served, and in an instant the minds of both were far 
away from each other and the scene. Whatever 
Paul’s thoughts might have been, Florian at least 
found himself looking with inward eye over the St. 
Lawrence on such a night as this with feelings of 
sorrow for the “ might-have-been.” The waters of 
the bay were tumbling about in rude, irregular fash- 
ion, like boys at play, and across them floated spec- 
tral vessels and dark shadows. At this hour the 
same moon was shining on a waste of ice and snow 
in Clayburgh. The lights twinkled among the snow- 
covered houses, and far away the islands stood dark 
and ghostly. Scott was there in his loneliness, read- 
ing in his cabin, or spearing pickerel by the light of 
a fire ; and Kuth, the dear girl ! well, it was a little 
foolish, perhaps, to rankle the old wound for the 
sake of reminiscence. 

They returned home still talking, and parted at 
Florian’s door. “I am not here one-third of my 
time,” said he to Paul as he bade him good-night. 
“ My library is exceptionally good, and if you will 
take advantage of it the premises are yours every 
day while I am absent.” 

Paul, thanking him warmly, accepted the kindness. 
On the second floor he met Peter with a lamp in his 
hand and a handful of coppers. 

“Ye asked me for five dollars, b’y,” said Peter 
sleepily ; “ would ye mind taking it in coppers ? ” 


CHAPTER YIII. 


THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 

In Florian’s room Paul now passed a great part of 
his leisure time, finding among the volumes scattered 
there his greatest pleasures. It surprised him to see 
that very little distinction was made with regard to 
the orthodoxy of writers in the selection of books. 
Infidelity and Protestantism were well represented 
on the shelves, and volumes Avhose poisonous prop- 
erties seemed almost to destroy their own pages 
with virulence and bigotry were common. He spoke 
of it wonderingly to Florian. 

“Well,” said Florian, “I found, on coming here 
and plunging into politics, that it would be useful 
to be acquainted with all literature as well as the 
Catholic purely, and that our enemies had a side 
to the argument which might be worth knowing. 
So I bought everything that came in my way, and 
read it merely for the sake of knowing personally 
the strong and weak points of an opponent. I can 
tell you it is a great help, and particularly in politics 
and society.” 

“ But wouldn’t you be afraid a little to handle 
such poisons ? Our faith, after all, is as much an 
object of temptation as our purity, and must be well 
guarded. Ho thing so easy to lose, nothing so hard 
to recover, as faith.” 

“ If this is the best argument the enemies of our 
92 


THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 


93 


faith have,” Avaving his hand toward the bookcase, 
“ I shall never lose it. Of course I would not rec- 
ommend the reading of such books to every one, 
but in political life it is almost a necessity to know 
these things if you expect to rise.” 

“ And you expect, of course,” laughed Paul. 

“ Some day,” said Plorian, “ I shall be — well, never 
mind what, but you shall Avrite my epic, and like 
Achilles, I shall go down to posterity embalmed in 
verses immortal.” 

^Nevertheless, the poet Avould have been more 
pleased Avith a library less dangerous, for Florian’s 
sake. As it Avas none of his business, he continued 
to enjoy the fine quarters of the lawyer during his 
absence at court and office, and Avas able to forget 
the garret a feAV hours every day. A boarder in a 
garret Avas a strange sight at a house so exclusive as 
Madame Lynch’s. All the stranger that the poet 
Avas rarely able to pay his small dues in full or on 
time. He managed cleverly to keep in madame’s 
good graces, and to keep out of her way. But he 
could not escape an explanation once the madame 
sent up her card Avith a request for an intervieAv. 
She Avas a large Avoman physically, and, as far as 
fashionable disposition Avould alloAv, large hearted. 
She liked the yellow-haired poet, and Avas not at all 
anxious that he should pay his Aveekly dues. But 
Paul, though airy in his disposition, Avas retiring in 
his present circumstances and could not be forced 
into a tete-a-tete Avith a female Avhile his clothes 
looked poorly ; therefore she pretended a feeling 
of nervousness that he Avould run aAvay Avithout 
making payment for the attic, and AA^as favored in 


94 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


consequence with many ceremonious visits and many 
insights into Paul’s character and circumstances 
which he never dreamed of giving her. He re- 
garded her as a stout, hard-fisted old lady with a 
soft spot in her heart, which periodically he was 
bound to find ; and congratulated himself on finding 
it regularly and succeeding thereby in keeping a 
respectable shelter over his unlucky head. Then 
Frances, her daughter, had a very sweet face and a 
bright disposition, and was not unwilling, with all 
his poverty, to talk literature occasionally and let 
him play on her piano when strangers were not 
present. The boarding-house was extremely select. 
Paul wondered that he ever had the audacity to 
apply for the garret at a place where presumably a 
garret would not exist ; but in the first setting out 
on a literary life he had thought the time would be 
short until his means would more than match the 
best parlor in the house. 

“ O Mr. Kossiter ! ” was madame’s first remark one 
day, when he entered in response to the usual in- 
vitation, “here I have waited another three days 
over the time, and yet I have to ask for another in- 
terview.” 

“ And I am always ^villing to give it,” said Paul 
reverently, “ for I have nothing else to give.” 

“Well, well, well ! ” and she tapped her pencil on 
the desk, and put on her eye-glasses to examine the 
account for the twentieth time. 

“ I have taught all the gentlemen so to remember 
the right day that it seems hard to fail with you. 
Four weeks, Mr. Eossiter, and twenty dollars due.” 

“ I’m sure I did my best,” said he. “ But these 


THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 


95 


people don’t appreciate genius. If you were the 
publisher, now, madanie, I would have no hesita- 
tion. You understand me, I think, and you would 
make others understand me. But in these hard 
matter-of-fact days poets will starve somewhat easier 
than in Queen Anne’s time. I think of giving it up 
and going back to the country.” 

“ It would be best,” said madame, “ but then there 
is no hurry. If you could oblige me with what is 
owing ” 

Paul shook his head mournfully. 

“ How can you expect it,” said he, “ when a man 
gets but five dollars for the labor of weeks ? If I chose 
to write poetry of the band-box kind — ten minutes’ 
work, you know — or write sonnets on the editor’s 
generosity, then I might earn a little. But I never 
will prostitute genius that way, not even to pay my 
debts.” 

“Is it prostituting genius to pay your debts?” 
said madame. 

“ Perhaps not,” Paul answered. “ I might shovel 
coal, and be dependent on no one save hospital 
charity, or wear my life out in a shop as clerk. But 
I only ask time, madame, only time, and as I paid 
in the past, so shall I pay you in the future. I need 
time.” 

“ Money is so scarce,” began madame, who liked 
to hear him plead. 

“ I have always heard the rich say that. Now, I 
think it plentiful, and it is. And how regularly you 
must get your money from your wealthy lawyers, 
and doctors, and statesmen. O madame ! do you 
stand in such need of a paltry twenty dollars that 


96 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


you call money scarce ? And what would you do 
with your attic if I went ? Poets are scarcer than 
dollars you know. And when shall you have the 
distinction of harboring a poet in your attic again ? 
I know I am living too high for my means, and I 
must economize. If you could give me the attic for a 
certain sum, and let me board elsewhere, I think it 
would do very well.” 

Madame looked grave and seemed on the point of 
refusing, when Frances came in, but stopped, apolo- 
gized, and was withdrawing. 

“ Come and plead for me,” said Paul, who was a 
great favorite with the girl and knew it. ‘‘ I have 
asked a favor, and your mother is going to say ‘ No.’ ” 
“ Just imagine, Frances,” said madame calmly, 
“ Mr. Kossiter wishes to retain his room and board 
elsewhere. Can we permit it ? ” 

“ Why not, mamma ? ” said she. “ I know it is 
the rule to do differently, and that you have never 

broken it yet, but then ” 

Not having any reason to offer, she stopped short 
and looked at Paul to continue. She was a simple- 
hearted girl, with remarkably bright, soft eyes, and 
her character clearly pictured in her frank face, 
which Paul in his weaker moments often allowed to 
weave itself into his fancies. He was young, how- 
ever, and faces of this kind were apt to haunt him. 

“ But then,” added she, “ what will you do with- 
out your poet ? ” 

“ Has he ever been of any earthly use to us ? ” 
said madame with unusual severity. “ Have we 
ever seen anything from his muse to justify his 
reputation ? ” 


THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 97 

I have,” said Frances — “ just the sweetest things.” 
But Paul was suddenly downcast even under this 
criticism ; for madame looked portentous, and “ just 
the sweetest ” was not the kind of poetry he looked 
upon as worthy of his genius. 

“Well, I am not disposed to be too hard,” said 
madame ; “ but if you ask favors, Mr. Kossiter, you 
must expect to grant them in turn.” 

“ Certainly,” said he, “ that is not to be doubted.” 

“ I shall permit you to retain the room, then, but 
I shall ask a favor of you soon — a reasonable one, 
mind, which I expect to have granted immediately.” 

Mr. Eossiter was missed thenceforward from the 
table, and, in addition to cold, want of light, and 
stinted means, he had now to undergo the daily 
matyrdom of a cheap lunch in cheap quarters, 
and among the cheapest sort of a crowd. Florian’s 
rooms and library made his hardships light, how- 
ever, and he reveled in the luxury and elegance that 
was really so only by contrast with the bare garret. 

Among the pictures which hung on the walls was 
one that brought a sudden surge of feeling to the 
poet’s heart ; a sketch of Clay burgh bay and the 
distant islands under the sun of a spring morning. 
A boat was putting off from the shore. A young 
man stood at the bow arranging some ropes, while 
in the stern were two girls in yachting costume, 
whose sweet faces seemed to be looking smilingly 
into one’s own. The dark haired, dark-eyed witch 
in white was waving a handkerchief coquettishly at 
an unseen observer ; her companion, hands clasped 
over one knee, was looking dreamily in the same 
direction. With this face the poet was captivated, 
7 


98 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


and recognized it in a more animated description of 
a face, which, hanging over the bookcase, had al- 
ready won his heart and begun to trouble his dreams. 
He mused over it often and wove fancies concerning 
the maid. 

•A few months of companionship placed him and 
the politician on a footing of intimacy, and started 
those confidences between the friends which make 
such an intimacy so delightful. Soon Florian looked 
on Paul as a young man of poetic talent, perhaps 
genius, with delicate sentiments and fondness for the 
ideal — a man who would make a good friend, but 
not a very useful one, since he was of that sort which 
expects every one to be useful to them, and who in- 
deed reflect a glory on their helpers. That idea of 
utility was getting to be a very powerful one with 
him. As to the past life of Paul he never thought 
but once, and his conclusion was that the youth had 
come up as a flower, cared for tenderly, without 
much experience, doomed to make no impression on 
the world except to add to its momentary beauty. 
He had no past, in fact, that could have left any 
bitter traces on his soul. 

Paul thought Florian a genius of a high order and 
looked up to him ; a man with a powerful array of 
statistics in his head ; who could get up at a mo- 
ment’s notice, and cool, self-possessed, clear-headed, 
talk sound sense for an hour ; whose aim was already 
the presidency, if he never said as much, and who 
was beginning in the right way to reach it ; who was 
clearly a gentleman of the very highest order, inas- 
much as adherence to principle and religion was 
added to outward courtesy of a superior kind. It 


THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 99 

pleased the poet to discover that Florian had a past 
of which he did not like to speak, and of which there 
were many traces in his character. When he looked 
at the yachting picture Paul saw two expressions in 
his face that were eloquent of a misery somewhat 
softened by time. When his gaze rested on the por- 
trait on the bookcase he saw the same look of pain 
succeeded by one of resignation, and even of hope. 
Quickly and justly the youth formed his conclusions. 
There was a resemblance in Florian to the girl who 
stood in the yacht waving her handkerchief, and prob- 
ably she was a relative whom some misfortune had 
snatched from him forever. But as to the other, 
who had no resemblance to him, she was perhaps his 
affianced, and circumstances which he hoped to over- 
come kept them apart. Paul laughed a little at his 
own inferences and the pain which the last one in 
particular gave him. 

He was right in judging that Florian’s hopes still 
centered on the girl whose picture hung over the 
book-case. Politics and the women he had met were 
as yet unable to disturb the gentle sway of her, who 
for truth’s sake had put aside her love for him, and, 
though in error as to her creed, was not one whit less 
devoted to principle than he, a Catholic, sharing in 
the possession of all truth. Sometimes the thought 
intruded on him that it would have been as well to 
have dropped that condition of their love, and to 
have married her first and converted her afterwards ; 
but, apart from its unfairness to her, he had laid 
down the principle that mixed marriages were hurt- 
ful and he would not — what? Suppose now that 
there was an opportunity of renewing their former 


100 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


relations, and Euth was yet obstinate in her belief, 
would he not be unwise to lose — what ? Florian saw 
that he was stumbling against the rocks of conscience, 
and looked up at those sweet faces in the yacht, 
while the tears came into his eyes and his heart gave 
a great throb of pain. One was dead and the other 
worse than dead to him unless — what ? 

His relations with Euth, he had to admit, were not 
of the most hopeful kind. In two years he had not 
exchanged words or letters with her, and from the 
various reports which acquaintances from Clayburgh 
incidentally gave him he could see that she had settled 
down to the new life with her usual good sense and 
determination to forget the past. It appeared, too 
that she had become literary in her tastes, and was 
a welcome contributor to many publications. As far 
as his hopes were concerned it seemed ridiculous, yet 
absence might have done considerable for him. He 
knew she once held him dear, and Euth was not 
quick to forget. If he had kept her image in his 
heart through all the blandishments of society, 
through all the turmoil of political life and the hard 
study of his profession, was it not more likely that 
in the noble solitude of the north, amid scenes the 
more dear because he had once lived amongst them, 
with Linda’s grave on the hillside to remind her of 
the child’s fondest wishes, his image would fade more 
slowly from her mind, and the old love die harder in 
her heart ? Perhaps she was entertaining them with 
the same hopes that shared his loneliness, and the 
quiet study and prayer of those years of separation 
might have led her so near to the fold that to marry 
her would bring her safely in. On the other hand, 


THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 101 

he remembered, with a sigh, Kuth’s rigid conscien- 
tiousness, which would make it a duty to dismiss 
every thought of him from her mind until time 
would allow her to look upon him merely as a friend. 
She had no claim on him, and that was enough. 
The dead heart of Linda would not beat more coldly 
than hers when they met again if this last supposition 
was correct, and yet he prayed Linda’s prayer the 
more fervently as all these doubts crowded on him, 
“ that we may meet again.” 

At all events, Florian was beginning to feel that 
to marry was becoming for him a political necessity. 
Social prominence, he thought, required an immedi- 
ate and advantageous marriage. He cared very 
little for wealth, and his bride need have for her 
dower no more than the graces which make a woman 
popular — beauty, fine carriage, a mind above the 
average, and respectable birth. Kuth had all these, 
and what a joy to him if his ambition could follow 
whither his heart led ! But if not, what was he to 
do? There were other women in the Avorld with 
some of the necessary qualifications, and Frances 
Lynch was one of them. Her mother had been a 
noted belle in her time, and enjoyed the friendship 
of remarkable men and women. A De Ponsonby 
keeping a boarding-house was a little irregular, but 
such a boarding-house ! Only the lights of society 
and intellect gained admittance within its portals ; 
and madame, although guilty of a blunder in marry- 
ing an Irishman with some brains, good birth, and 
moderate fortune, never lost her power in the world 
of society on that account. Frances inherited her 
mother’s wit and beauty. How that she appeared to 


102 


SOLITAllY ISLAND. 


him in the light of a possible wife, he began to per- 
ceive that she had made a deep impression on him. 
She was slight and willowy in form, with a woman’s 
full height, and a quiet grace of manner. He remem- 
bered how transparent her face was, and how delicate 
its outline ; how the sunlight gleamed through her 
yellow hair; the sweetness of her voice ; the beauty 
of her mouth, teeth, and smile ; the gentleness and 
womanliness of her disposition, and her winning and 
candid ways. He had to admit that beside her Euth 
seemed quite plain. And, moreover, Frances was a 
Catholic and very devout, to all appearances. What 
her faults were he did not know, as he never looked 
for them. It seemed a little odd, even to his present 
changed conditions of thought, that before the old 
hopes died he should thus be looking for an object 
on which to found new ones, but it was an old trick 
with his calculating nature, which political habits 
had intensified. 

If any one noticed the few special attentions he 
paid to Frances after these meditations, no comment 
was excited. Yet Peter Carter was filled with rage 
and suspicion over them, and as soon as he might 
rushed in to madame with unbecoming haste and fury. 

“ I told ye,” said Peter, as he sat down familiarly 
in madame’s easy chair, that ye never would know 
how to bring up a child, and that ye never deserved 
to have one, with your curls an’ pomade, an’ poke- 
bonnets, an’ furb’lows, an’ trimmings, an’ nonsense. 
I told ye, and now you are going’ to reap the reward 
o’ your sins.” 

“ What is the matter now ? ” said madame 
calmly. 


THE PORTKAIT ON THE WALL. 103 

“ Matter now ! ” grunted Peter. “ Modesty was 
a quality of most women I knew, but your daughter 
hasn’t any — a mere bundle of fashions ; an’ I won’t 
stand it any longer. Am I going to see her damned 
and not say a word ? ” 

“ What difference will it make to you ? ” said 
madame sneeringly. 

“ Sporting with that lawyer below, the— the witch. 
He making faces at her an’ she softening him with 
music. He that has no more heart than a stone. 
It’s a gizzard he has ! An’ he won’t be a Catholic 
within ten years, he’s such a poor one now. I tell ye 
I won’t stand it ! ” 

“ Evidently you have a grievance of some kind,” 
said madame : “ pray, what is it ? And, if you can, 
speak plainly.” 

“ I’ve seen through ye, ma’am ; ” and Peter leered 
at the elegant lady. “ I’ve seen through your 
daughter too ; an’ I know you are just d^dng to get 
the lawyer into the family. But I swear if she tries 
it I’ll blow on you I And I’U go to him myself an’ 
tell him the whole thing.” 

“ Wait a minute,” said madame sternly, 

“Wait a minute!” snapped Peter, but he recog- 
nized the tone which madame used, and kept growl- 
ing in a prudent minor key. “ Wait ! I’ll be hanged 
if I wait one second.” 

“ There’s a little debt of yours just sent me this 
morning,” said madame, “ and I was trying to decide 
whether it would be better to pay it or stop it out 
of your monthly allowance,” 

“ Oh ! ” said Peter, slightly confused. 

“ And, then, Mrs. Brown was here this morning 


104 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


to tell me her front room is vacant, and I thought it 
wiser that you should remove yourself there, for you 
are getting too coarse for this elegance.” 

“ Elegance be hanged ! ” said Peter warmly. 
“ What do I care for you and your elegance ? I’ll 
go to Mrs. Brown’s, if ye wish me to, or to the 
devil.” 

“ Don’t hurry,” said madame graciously ; ‘‘ you’ll 
meet your old friend soon enough.” 

“ But I’ll ruin ye. I’ll ruin ye ! ” he stormed. “ I’ll 
tell the whole story to the lawyers, poets, and great- 
nessess, I will, and end your fine plotting.” 

“ There are some papers here,” said madame, 
“ which I will read for you. You need quieting, you 
foolish man. And if it is necessary to remove you 
from Mrs. Brown’s front room, your next journey, 
I fear, will be to prison.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Peter, collapsing suddenly. “ But 
sure you are notgoin’ to send me to Mrs. Brown’s ; 
ye wouldn’t turn out an old man from such comfort- 
able quarters ! ” 

“You are so boisterous w'hen you drink,” said 
madame : “ you make so many threats, you interfere 
so unwarrantably in the affairs of strangers, that 
really ” 

“ I’m not boisterous,” Peter asserted, “ and I never 
in my whole life made threats to any one. Did I 
make threats ? ” he added, innocently. “ ’ Pon my 
honor I was dreaming, an’ had no more idea of the 
meaning’ o’ what I said than the man in the moon. 
I’ll say nothing. I’ll be quiet as a lamb. I won’t open 
my mouth good or bad, if ye say so. But of course 
ye’ll excuse my anxiety for Paul. It was Paul I 


THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 


105 


was thinking of, for I knew he was in love with 
Frances ; and he’s such a beautiful creature, an’ it 
isn’t fair that the lawyer should have everything, as 
ye must admit yerself when ye come to think of it.” 

“ Did Paul tell you as much ? ” said madame in- 
differently, plunging into some papers. 

“ Of course he did 1 ” said Peter vehemently. 
“ Well — I won’t say he did, after all ; but his actions 
said it, and then he’s a poet an’ couldn’t help falling 
in love with such a little beauty. I^o, I don’t think 
he did say anything. I needn’t mind going to Mrs. 
Brown’s ? ” 

‘‘ Kot yet,” said madame slowly, “ but I shall keep 
this debt out of your monthly allowance.” 

“ Don’t ! ” said Peter, with gloomy earnestness ; 
but the lady was inexorable, and he went off con- 
vinced that whatever he turned his hand to, whether 
for good or evil to himself or others, was sure to 
end in a mass of chaotic bitter ruin. 


CHAPTEK IX. 


KUTH. 

While the years were passing with noisy flight 
for Florian, one woman was enjoying in Clay burgh a 
peace of heart none the less assured and real that it 
had been won after much suffering. When Florian 
went Ruth had found his absence a very keen pain, 
almost impossible to bear, but then the battle had 
been fought and won long before their actual separa- 
tion, when it had first become plain to her that she 
could not accept the Catholic faith. She had been 
very calm in announcing her determination, because 
the scene had already been enacted in imagination 
many times, but after his departure she fought a new 
battle with herself, winning quietly and passing into 
a life of gentle calm that nothing else seemed able 
to disturb. As Florian had supposed, her strict con- 
scientiousness had swept from her heart every vestige 
of the love she once had for him. His appearance 
to-morrow in Clayburgh, with or without a wife, 
would have been a pleasure to her, not an occasion 
of regret and expectation, as it would have been for 
him. He had fallen into that ridiculous position 
which a rejected lover finds it so hard to assume, that 
of the trusted friend of the woman he would have 
made his wife. Often she visited the grave on the hill. 


RUTH. 


107 


and wept bitter tears over this one sorrow of her 
life. It seemed so hard to believe Linda Avas dead. 
The whole scene Avas instinct Avith her presence. 
Hers had been the earliest laugh to greet the spring, 
and hers the first tears that beAvailed the death of 
the floAvers and the coming of the long Avinter. But 
who Avould have disturbed the SAveet sleep of the 
girl ? and Avho would have called thee back, Linda, 
from the smile of God, even if they had the power ? 

The report Avhich reached Florian that Euth had 
devoted herself to literary Avork Avas true, and of late 
she began to reap so much success and profit from 
her venture that a neAV idea, presented to her by an 
outsider for consideration, took her fancy very much. 
A relative and her husband had visited Clayburgh 
the previous summer, and urged on Euth the pro- 
priety of coming to Ncav York during the Avinter, or 
at any time that suited her conA^enience, and making 
the acquaintance of the literary celebrities of the 
day. 

“We have them all at our receptions,” said Mrs. 
Merrion ; “ and we are so gratified to hear them 
speak of you in terms of high praise. You will 
receive an ovation, and think of the pleasure and 
profit it would be to you to hold SAveet converse 
with them.” 

“ Well, Barbara,” said Euth, who thought her 
relative’s adjectives a little silly, “ your offer is tempt- 
ing, and I shall consider it during the Avinter. But 
I could not think of leaving Clayburgh at present. 
Next year, perhaps, I may go down to hold sweet 
converse Avith your literary stars.” 

And Mrs. Merrion perceived from the unnecessary 


108 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


emphasis that Kuth was laughing at her. However, 
Kuth thought deeply on the matter and finally 
proposed it to her father, who was delighted with 
the idea of being in Florian’s neighborhood for a 
time, and suggested shutting up the house at once 
and setting off on their journey. She went first to 
hear the hermit’s opinion on it, and took Mrs. Wini- 
fred Wallace with her. It was a bitter cold day, and 
the open sleigh in which they were seated afforded a 
fine view of the vast stretches of ice that lay away 
from them for miles, and of the islands between, sul- 
len and gloomy like life-prisoners in Siberia. When 
they reached the island they left the stage at the 
house of a friend and procured another conveyance 
to take them eastward to the narrow channel open- 
ing into Eel Bay. They crossed the ice on foot to a 
dark wood, where a few maples with dead leaves 
clinging to the bare branches made a great stir like 
the chuckling of many skeletons. Through this they 
went by a path evidently frequented of late, and so 
beaten down as to make the wood passable, and 
finally came out on a bluff which showed the hermit’s 
house a short distance off, with a light in the window. 
It was a cloudy and gloomy day, and Scott was at 
home, with a bright fire burning in the chimney- 
place and his solitary candle lit, while Izaak Walton 
lay open at a well-thumbed page that brought back 
a fresher memory of the brightness and sweetness of 
the summer. He was surprised at the appearance 
of the two women, but politely invited them to sit 
down and remove their wraps, while he put a fresh 
log on the fire and showed a bachelor’s feverish desire 
to set things in order. Euth was in the habit of call- 


RUTH. 


109 


ing on him as often as she thought her presence 
would not be too intrusive, but she had never dis- 
turbed his retreat during the winter, and perhaps he 
thought this visit a mere freak of inquisitiveness. 
Mrs. Winifred was uneasy, and made most wretched 
attempts to seem commonplace and ordinary, look- 
ing about her with the air of meek terror that used 
to provoke the anger of Linda and Florian because 
of its ludicrous side. Euth and the hermit paid her 
no attention. 

“ It was a mere notion, you know,” the girl was 
explaining to Scott, as she sat in the blaze with her 
hands clasped over her knee, for I could have waited 
until you came to town and explained it to you then ; 
but an idea seized me like an apoplexy, and I must 
come down without delay. I have not seen you in 
a long time, and I was and am thinking of going to 
'New York.” She was looking at him very closely 
as she said this, sure the hermit would accuse her in 
thought of going after Florian, and would look at 
her once with his keen blue eyes. He was as inter- 
ested as if she had stated her destination to be 
Timbuctoo. 

“ It’s a fine place, New York,” he said quietly ; 
“ but why need all the blood rush to the heart ? ” 

“ It must all pass through it,” said she, taking up 
the figure with a smile, “ or else be cast aside I You 
see, I would not go to stay, but only to make a few 
friends among the great thinkers and writers and 
poets. It would be something to know them, would 
it not ? ” 

“ 0 yes ! it does one good to meet a great person, 
I think ; but, then, they needn’t be all bookish folks, 


110 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


There are great people in the garrets and cellars of 
a big city an’ in the work-shops.” 

“ You were never in a great city,” said she, and 
repented of the words immediately. “ Pray do not 
answer that,” she broke in. “ It was not meant to 
pry into your affairs. It was an accident. But 
what do you think ? Is it wise for me to go ? I have 
won a little fame by writing, and I would so like to 
know great minds. Then there are great doctors of 
theology and eminent Catholics there. Who knows 
but that I might get some light from them.” 

He shook his head and smiled a little. 

“ I understand,” said she. I know to what you 
refer. Well, I hme prayed and prayed, and yet 
light will not come. I have tried to be content with 
Methodism and I can’t, nor can I find rest in any 
other faith.” 

“ It is a time of doubt with you,” said the hermit, 
‘‘ and that means change. I dunno as great minds 
will help ye much ; mostly it’s the little minds do 
God’s work, an’ bring peace and rest.” 

“Well, I’ll visit the garrets and cellars, and hunt 
up little minds, and see the great people too.” 

“ Them fine writers an’ thinkers,” said Scott se- 
riously, “ have a mighty high opinion o’ themselves, 
an’ look at religion pretty often in queer ways. They 
kind o’ handle it as a jeweler handles a watch. 
They’ve got the secret o’ the thing, an’ don’t think 
much of it. They give ye a doubt about it some- 
times, unless ye get the ’umble ones that thinks more 
o’ their neighbor than they do o’ themselves. I’ve 
met some of ’em fishin,’ an’ they were too green for 
anything. They didn’t like to be told so, either.” 


RUTH. 


Ill 


“ Then would you say go, Scott ? ” she persisted. 

“Would I say go? Well, if great minds is the 
only trouble, an’ religion, why, yes, go.” 

Somehow she was not so satisfied with his answer, 
and sat staring into the fire, wondering. Was there 
anything else that should trouble her save religion 
and the great minds ? There was the rush and whirl 
of polite society, but it never could entangle her, 
and then — Florian. She looked at Scott. He was 
reading Walton, and Mrs. Winifred was watching 
him shyly as a curiosity. Why should he have put 
in the iff Did he think the old trouble would begin 
again ? She was not afraid of herself ; but then 
what security was there for Florian ? She had often 
wondered if he had given up the old love as com- 
pletely as she had, and, knowing his fond disposi- 
tion, feared he had not. Would not her presence 
excite it more violently and more hopelessly, and 
was that what the hermit meant ? The silence grew 
so profound that Mrs. Winifred felt called upon to 
say something. 

“ From what I’ve heard of big cities,” said she, 
“ seemingly nothing troubles the girls there but their 
dress and beaux.” 

“Yes,” said Scott, looking at her with an expres- 
sion of severe reproach in his eyes, which puzzled 
Kuth, “ beaux ? ” 

“ Do you think my presence, Scott, would annoy 
Florian ? ” 

“ I do,” said the hermit, as if he had been expect- 
ing the question. “ I think he never got over losin’ 
you, an’ it would kind o’ stir him up to see you 
again.” 


112 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Is that a good reason for me to remain away 
from 'New York or any other place ? ” 

“ Not if ye care nothin’ for him.” And seeing she 
did not perceive what injury her presence could be 
to Florian, he went on a little hurriedly, as if it 
annoyed him to speak of these things : — “ I know 
he’s kind o’ hoped agin’ hope that ye’d come to him 
some time, as he’d like to, an’ make up. It’s been a 
help to him a long time, an’ kept him out o’ harm 
perhaps, or leastwise from gettin’ away from the 
right. Politicians,” he added, seeing that her look 
suggested a doubt as to Florian’s getting off the path 
an inch, “ get right an’ wrong so mixed up with their 
own likin’ that they don’t alius do right even when 
they mean to. When he finds out ye’re not in love 
with him any more, there won’t be any boldin’ to 
him. God only knows when he’ll stop.” 

“ I don’t think you are quite correct in that,” said 
Mrs. Winifred, with a boldness that frightened her- 
self. ‘‘ Florian, seemingly, was always one of the 
strict kind.” 

“Mebbe,” said the hermit, resuming his book, 
while Kuth looked her absolute doubt of Scott’s in- 
ferences eloquently. 

“ I hain’t no pretensions to bein’ a prophet,” he 
said after a silence, “ but it’ll surprise me if Flory 
don’t propose to ye again’ down thar, an’ offer to 
take ye jist as ye stand, atheist or Protestant, an’ 
get mad enough to do wild things when ye re- 
fuse.” 

“How do you know I’ll refuse?” said Kuth 
saucily. 

“ That’s so,” and Scott smiled. “ You can’t know 


BUTH. 113 

a woman two minutes at a time, an’ I’m no wiser 
than other men.” 

“Well, I’ll follow your advice” — the hermit had 
not given any, and looked at her — “ and go. I’ll 
avoid Florian, and see the great and the little minds 
of the great city, and pick up some grace that’s lying 
for me there like money in a bank.” 

The hermit studied her attentively with his great 
blue eyes. 

“ Did it ever strike you,” said he coldly, “ that 
you might be playin’ with grace, just as a man does 
with a stubborn fish amusin’ hisself ? ” 

“ No,” she interrupted loudly, and with such in- 
dignation that Mrs. Winifred uttered a faint cry. 
“ Do not accuse me of that, Scott, never, never, accuse 
me of that.” 

He resumed his air of meek indifference at once. 

“Yet, how do I know,” she said humbly, “ what 
sins I may or may not be guilty of? But in this 
matter I have been so much in earnest, so very much 
in earnest, and except in my methods I can find no 
blame.” 

She had no more to say, and Scott read his book 
in a way that politely invited their departure. 

“ Will you excuse me for one moment ? ” said she : 
“ I am going to take a view of the river from the 
boulder before I go.” 

She went out and stood on the spot where Florian 
had knelt and prayed of mornings during his retreat, 
and dreamed and chatted of evenings. The scene 
was like the buried beauty of that happy time, risen 
from its grave in white, ghastly cerements, and the 
weird wind moan through the evergreens gave a 
8 


114 


SOLITABY ISLAND. 


voice to the forlorn ghost. Would it never look 
otherwise to her again ? Could she ever gaze upon 
the summer-scene that in time would banish this pale 
specter of the dead, with the same calm and joy and 
sweetness as when beside her stood Florian and 
Linda. 

“ If I cannot,” said she, with sadness, ‘‘ then change 
of heart will not be for the better.” 

When she came back, after ten minutes of looking 
and thinking and sighing, Mrs. Winifred was putting 
on her wraps, a trifle pale and tired, and very con- 
fused and frightened from her tete-a-tete with the 
hermit, and Scott was standing with his back to the 
Are, his hands behind him, and his chin in the air, 
as if an inspiration had seized him. But Kuth put 
no emphasis on such things, and bade him good-bye 
with a promise of seeing him again when she had 
come to a firm and conscientious determination. He 
went with them across the river and through the 
wood, with its chattering and shivering maples, and 
over the channel to where the horse and cutter still 
stood, and, as was his custom, stood facing them under 
the shadow of the wintry sky until they were out of 
sight. 

“ Can you conceive anything more lonely ? ” said 
Euth ; “ that solitary man standing in such a solitude 
and going back through that gloomy wood to his 
home. How does he stand it ? ” 

“I think him a saint,” said Mrs. Winifred so 
emphatically that Euth looked at her in surprise. 


CHAPTEE X. 


A REUNION. 

When the Merrions had opened house for the 
fashionable season, Kuth and the Squire were re- 
ceived with open arms by the vivacious Barbara. 

“ The first thing I shall do,” said Mrs. Merrion 
— “ and oh ! how fortunate you came along as you 
did, Euth, for I was making my head ache with plans 
for something new and striking for my first event, 
and couldn’t find anything to suit — the first thing 
I shall do is to have a music party and make it the 
earliest and best of the season. How can it be other- 
wise with such a star as you, so unique and so new ? ” 

Euth looked at Mrs. Merrion to see if the lady 
was in earnest in using such language, and found 
that she was. In earlier days, when Barbara Mer- 
rion was a girl at Clay burgh, she had been noted for 
her beauty, brilliancy, and boldness. It was the 
possession of these qualities which won for her a hus- 
band, a wealthy nonentity in the shape of Mr. Mer- 
rion, whose dull faculites had been quickened under 
the spell of the girl’s dashing presence. Although 
a relative Euth had no affection for her. There 
seemed such a want of thoughtfulness, and even of 
good principle, in her disposition that no amount 
of respectability and correct conduct could make up 


lie 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


for it in her eyes. And yet Mrs. Merrion was a 
model of behavior and very popular. How any one 
could pretend to be the star of an assemblage with 
her petite figure and shining face present, Kuth could 
not understand. Barbara’s features were small, but 
of a fine and exquisite type. The delicate nose and 
dark eyes showed a high spirit, and reckless though 
trained disposition. Beside her Buth felt like a slow, 
heavy being, a robin beside a humming-bird. While 
preparations were being made for her debut the 
Squire set out to look for Florian and to bring him 
over to afternoon tea, if possible. Mrs. Merrion was 
not acquainted with him, the Squire discovered, to his 
own intense disgust and astonishment. She had 
known him in a distant way as a good-looking boy, 
in Clayburgh, whom she had never patronized or 
spoken to simply because he was a boy of her own 
age and not “ eligible.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” said the Squire, “ you don’t mean to 
tell me that you’ve lived ten years in Brooklyn and 
are not acquainted with the handsomest and smartest 
fellow in Hew York City ? How, I didn’t think it 
of you, I didn’t.” 

“ Why, Mr. Pendleton, qu’en voulez-vous ? ” She 
had a silly habit, but a very pretty one in her mouth, 
of using French phrases to any extent. 

“ Kan vully-voo ! ” repeated the Squire. “ What 
nonsense ! Don’t be flying yer nasty French at me. 
I say it’s queer — don’t you, Kuth? — not to know 
Florian, the best, the smartest ” 

“ How can I know them all ? ” said Barbara plain- 
tively. “ There are so many clever, desirable people 
come and go, and these cities are so large. But if 


A REUNION. 117 

you will bring him to lunch at three or dinner at 
six I shall be happy to know him.” 

“ Of course you will,” said the Squire, with a loud 
sneer. “ But I won’t bring him ; you won’t know 
him, since you didn’t look him up before. Why, he 
and Ruth were going to be married once.” 

“ Why, father ! ” said Ruth with an emphasis that 
startled the Squire into such a consciousness of his 
blunder that he got angry. 

‘‘ Are you ashamed of it ? ” said he. 

“ No ; but then it’s unnecessary to speak of such 
things to every one,” said Ruth disdainfully. 

“ Jest as you say,” snapped the Squire. “ But I’ll 
bring him over. Barbery, and you can see jest what 
a fool Ruth can make of herself once every five 
years.” 

“ Not oftener ? ” said Ruth maliciously. “ Now if 
Barbara could see ” 

“ What a fool I can make of myself once a day, 
you want to say? Well, say it, and be hanged,” 
said the Squire. “ But I know a good man when I 
see him, and I’d hang on to him if I was a woman. 
So I’ll bring him, Barbery, shall I ? ” 

“ By all means,” said Barbara sweetly ; “ and 
perhaps we may arrange matters so that Ruth may 
not be so hard-hearted another time.” 

The Squire coming round in late September found 
Florian at home. 

“ How do, boy ? ” said he, poking through the half- 
open door his red, jovial face. Florian jumped as 
if shot, and paled, while the Squire roared and 
squeezed his hands again and again, and turned him 
round to look at him, and was full of delight and 


118 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


surprise at the changes he saw. The noise the okl 
man made attracted another red, jovial face to the 
door. 

“ Friends, b’y ? ” said Peter, recognizing an affinity. 
“ May I come in ? ” 

“ Certainly,’’ said the Squire. “ Friend of yours, 
Flory?” 

“ Yes,” said Florian, vexed, but glad of the intru- 
sion, too. “ This is Peter Carter, journalist, a good 
man in his way.” 

‘‘ Not at all,” said Peter, wringing the Squire’s 
hand fiercely, while Pendleton said : 

“You’ve heard of old Pendleton, if you’re a jour- 
nalist — got mixed up with the two governments in 
Mackenzie’s rebellion.” 

“ Didn’t I report the whole thing ? ” said Peter 
with enthusiasm — “ the pursuit, the capture. Why, 
man, your life hung on a thread.” 

“ Yes,” cried the delighted Squire, hugging his 
thick throat with both hands ; “ but here was the 
thread, boy — here was the thread.” 

“ Bedad, Florian this is quite an Irishman ye have 
for a friend, if I might judge from his sentiments — 
hey, b’y ? ” 

“ Irishman ! ” said the Squire. “ More Irish than 
he is with his cool, political blood that’ll stand any- 
thing and smile. I’ve known that boy. Carter, since 
he was born, almost, and he was just as cool then 
as he is now. Not enough blood in him to like any- 
thing weaker than liquid fire, and that only heated 
him. I tried to marry him to a daughter of mine 
once, but she wouldn’t stand it — no, sir, wouldn’t 
stand it.” 


A REUNION. 


119 


“ ’Twas a great pity, now,’’ said Peter seriously, 
for it struck him as being a handy way of getting 
rid of Florian’s pretensions to Frances. ‘‘Ye missed 
it, b’y, didn’t ye now.” 

“ Kather,” said Florian with an inward groan. 

“ But never mind. Carter,” said the Squire, with a 
knowing wink of the highest confidence — “ never 
you mind ; I can arrange matters when 1 take ’em 
in hand, an’ I’m going to take ’em.” 

“As Mr. Pendleton has but just arrived,” said 
Florian in despair, “ and I have some matters to discuss 
with him, would you mind leaving us alone for a 
while ? ” 

“ But I want to see you again,” said the Squire. 
“ Haven’t met your equal. Carter, since I came to 
New York. You shall have an introduction to my 
daughter, and an invitation to Mrs. Merrion’s music 
party? We’ll get in some quiet room and play 
whist and drink punch till morning. What do you 
say ? ” 

“Your heart’s in the right place, me b’y,” said 
Peter, “ and your throat too, an’ both guide your 
head. Same way with Peter. I accept ; I’ll go if 
a thousand stood in the way and I’ll help ye mend 
matters, an’ give ye the benefit o’ my experience 
in the town ; an’ if ye want a hand in the little 
matter ” 

“Good-morning,” said Florian abruptly, almost 
pushing Peter outside the door, where he stood for 
some time indignant, and thought of going back to 
fling defiance in Florian’s face ; but as that might 
peril his chances of improving the Squire’s acquaint- 
ance, he refrained and withdrew. 


120 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ A first*class character/’ said the Squire, “ a real 
surprise. Where did you pick him up ? A sort of 
Irish exile, hey ? ” 

‘‘Yes; but a rather spongy sort,” said Florian, 
who was not at all as patient with Peter as the poet 
was. 

“ Spongy — that is, receptive. Ah ! I understand. 
I’m glad to hear it. But now you’re to come over 
to lunch, Mrs. Merrion said, and you must be in- 
troduced to get a bid to the musicale^ you know. 
Euth’s just dying to see you, and so is Barbery, 
because she’s surprised to know there’s a famous 
man in ISTew 'f ork that doesn’t bow down to her 
and attend her parties. Skittish creature — you re- 
call her when she married Merrion, before she got 
into long dresses — but almighty nice if she wants to 
be. And now, Flory, I just ache to see you use 
your points well. Kuth’s tired of things in gen- 
eral and, if you try rightly you are going to 
win this time, if you want to. Why I swear I never 
thought of asking you that, but then of course you 
do.” 

“ It’s not well to think of it,” said Florian, who 
did not wish to give the garrulous Squire even a hint 
of his own feelings. 

“ No, I s’ pose not,” said the Squire dubiously and 
grief-stricken ; “ but then I might have known you’d 
be changed and more particular, now that you’re 
famous.” 

“ It isn’t that,” said Florian — “ oh ! no, not that. 
I think very much of Euth, but then I would not 
trouble her over again with a suit that would not 
be to her liking.” 


A REUNION. 


121 


“ If that’s all we’ll arrange it to her liking, my boy.” 

But for all his cheerfulness the Squire felt more 
doubtful about his pet project than he had at any 
time since its conception. They went at once to 
Brooklyn, and arrived in time for lunch, and the 
meeting, which in Florian’s mind was to have been 
a masterpiece of subdued emotion and passion, turned 
out as ordinary as could be desired. 

“ How do you do, Kuth ? ” said the handsome 
politician, with some relief in seeing how little 
changed Kuth was. 

“ 1 am very well, Florian, but I find it hard to 
recognize you,” was the frank reply. She pressed 
his cold hands with her warm ones and gazed so 
calmly into his twitching face. “ It is Florian,” 
she said again, “ but oh ! how changed. Barbarba, 
let me introduce you to my friend Mr. Wallace. 
Florian, Mrs. Merrion.” 

He hardly saw the beautiful fairy that bowed to 
him, but the fairy saw him with all her eyes and 
pronounced him a perfect man ; saw, too, what 
simple Ruth did not, that he was agitated at this 
meeting, and judged, from the Squire’s beaming 
delight and Ruth’s ordinary manner, that the oM 
romance was long ago ended, much against the wishes 
of these two men. When he was going he received 
his invitation to the mtisicale. 

“ And there is a poet-dramatist in the same house 
with you,” said Barbara, “ that you must invite also. 
We leave out no celebrities.” 

“ And there’s Mr. Carter in the same place,” said 
the Squire — “ a noted journalist. I must have an 
invitation for him.” 


122 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ By all means,’’ said Barbara. “ Madame Lynch 
has a faculty of getting around her the most unique 
people. I wish I had it.” 

Florian went away sad and disappointed, and with 
a feeling that, in spite of fame, influence, and wealth, 
Ruth was farther from him than ever. 

Paul Rossiter went to the music party much against 
his will, for he was hard at work on a play, and there 
were matters of another kind demanding his atten- 
tion which he would not lay aside for an audience 
with kings. Florian had brought him to see Mrs. 
Merrion, and the little lady had pressed him so hard, 
and had made such extravagant promises with regard 
to the new beauty whom she was to introduce to 
society, that he consented at last. When Ruth was 
introduced to him he saw for the first time the face 
of his dreams in its living image, although its owner 
had laid aside the simple yachting dress for the vol- 
uminous evening costume of the period ; and being 
unprepared, he had started, blushed, stammered, and 
not come to himself rightly until he was sitting some- 
where and the voice of the lady was talking about 
Florian. 

“ And you are a friend of Florian ? I am so very 
glad to know it, for I have never really heard who 
his friends were. Do you not think him a very nice 
gentleman ? And they tell me he has considerable 
political influence for so young a man.” 

“ Oh I he’s the best fellow in the world,” said Paul, 
wondering all the time if he were really talking with 
the original of the picture, “ and his influence is 
simply boundless in the city. He has been in the 
legislature, he will go to Congress, then the governor- 


A REUNION. 


123 


ship, and the presidency. There is nothing beyond 
that.’' 

“ So he finally comes to nothing,” Euth said smil- 
ing. “ What an ending for so much greatness and 
influence ! And is it really worth while struggling 
for all these things, when they come to so little at 
last?” 

“ Little and great are all alike,” said Paul. “ The 
nothingness we come to, I suppose, makes the worth- 
less earthly honor all the more valuable.” 

‘‘ Florian’s exact words,” said Euth. “ Ah ! now I 
can see you are very good friends, for you have his 
ideas, and he has yours, no doubt.” 

“ I have his, no doubt,” said Paul, “ but if he has 
mine they must be very useless, being mostly fancies 
about dreams. How easily you recognize his say- 
ings, Miss Pendleton ! You must have known him 
very well.” 

“We lived in the same town and went to the same 
school for years ; and then we were friends. Oh ! I 
know Florian as if he were my brother. His sister ” 
— her voice faltered — “ was a dear friend of mine ; 
and if you know him you must like him.” 

“ And I do, and I shall like him all the more if his 
friendship will place me higher in your favor.” 

He trembled at his boldness, but she received it as 
a matter of course. 

“I — will indeed. Florian’s friends must all be 
worth knowing, for they were ever the choicest.” 

They talked on very pleasantly for a half hour, 
and then others came to disturb the delightful t^te- 
^-t^te and make him and her miserable ; for Euth 
had formed a sudden and strong liking for this warm- 


124 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


hearted and warm-featured child of genius, which 
fell little short of the admiration he felt for her 
beauty. Florian had vainly tried, when once freed 
from the conversational charms of Barbara, to secure 
for himself a confidential talk with Euth. Fate, 
in the person of the guests of Mrs. Merrion was 
against him. When one or the other did not engage 
him they surrounded Euth like a city’s walls, for the 
fair girl was become a general favorite that evening 
and was much sought after. She was a little tired 
of continuous adulation, and kept wishing that Paul 
would make his appearance again, and wondering 
why Florian did not join those sitting about her. 
Finding an opportunity to slip unobserved into a 
recess of some kind, she threw herself on a sofa, re- 
lieved to be free for a moment from the glare and 
heat and noise. When her eyes became accustomed 
to the dim light of the place she perceived that 
Florian was sitting opposite her. 

Is it you, Florian ? ” said she. “ Oh ! how I have 
tried to see you and speak to you this evening.” 

“ It is impossible on a first night,” said he quietly. 
“ There are so many present, and your face is new to 
most of them. It’s not much like a musicale in Clay- 
burgh.” 

“ I think ours were much more pleasant.” 

“ Well, I should hardly feel obliged to enjoy them 
as I used,” he said, with the worn air of a man who 
had exhausted the pleasure contained in such enter- 
tainments. ‘‘ It is so long since I have been there 
that I have quite forgotten them.” 

‘‘ I can believe you,” she said, with the gentlest 
reproach in her voice. “ You seem to have forgotten 


A REUNION. 126 

everything connected with the poor little town and 
its glorious river.” 

“INTot everything, Kuth. I remember Linda’s 
grave, and how the river looks when only the stars 
are shining at midnight and the poor child lying 
there alone.” 

There was a sob in his voice, and the mention of 
Linda stirred Kuth deeply. She had felt like an 
artificial woman moving in her strange plumes 
through the brilliant company, and had wearied of 
the unvarying round of formal compliments and 
praise; but at this touch of feeling she became a 
Clayburgh girl again, and it was Ruth talking with 
Florian as in the old time. 

“ I would never suspect you of forgetting that, 
Florian, nor the hermit, who sent so many kind 
regards to you.” 

“ You saw him often, then? ” 

“ Rot very often, but I presumed a little, perhaps, 
and he is so obliging, if a little cold, and he spoke 
of you rarely, but it was always something wise or 
good. Did you ever notice how^ pure his thoughts 
are — like water from a spring ? ” 

“ I may have noticed it, but it did not impress me, 
although I made it a point to study him. He has 
faded from my mind considerably, and I would find 
it hard to reproduce his features ; but I know what 
he must have said to you about me when you were 
leaving.” 

“ Do you ? ” she said in some alarm. “ How 
can you know that when I have not told you, 
Florian ? ” 

“ See if I am right. ‘ Y ou will find him changed 


126 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


for the worse, my dear, and he will surely make love 
to you again,’ said Scott.” 

“ You are a magician,” she answered, very much 
embarrassed. But then, imagining that Florian’s 
boldness must arise from his indifference to their 
past state of feeling she felt relieved and happy, and 
laughed with him. 

“ I think he must have said something like it,” 
she said, “ but I cannot recall the words used. I 
wonder how much of it is true ? I know you have 
not been guilty of the last charge, and will not be ; 
but you are much changed in heart, Florian.” 

“ What can you expect from the atmosphere in 
which I move ? ” 

“I should expect that if it were very bad you 
would go away from it,” she replied severely ; “ you 
often told me to do that, and common piety teaches 
it, too.” 

‘‘Would you accuse a politician of piety?” he 
demanded, laughing. 

Euth was silent. There was something hard and 
forced in his manner. 

“ You cannot be pious in politics,” he went on, 
understanding very well her feelings, “ but one can 
keep from much evil. If you are wealthy or in- 
fluential, or married to a good woman, you can keep 
from all.” 

“ And as you are not wealthy ” 

“ And only moderately influential ” 

“ You ought to get married,” said she ; “ and, in- 
deed, rumor connects your name with some ladies 
very closely.” 

“No doubt, no doubt,” he answered vaguely, and 


A REUNION. 


127 


felt a dumb pain stealing over him at the perfect in- 
difference, or rather the friendly and sisterly interest 
she took in the matter. 

“ Linda would be so pleased to know you were 
happily suited in every way,’’ she went on, “ and I 
am sure I would.” 

“ No doubt, no doubt,” said he, shaking off the 
stupor that had seized upon him. “ But we can talk 
of this again. You are not altogether out of my life, 
Euth, and you may have as much to say as Linda 
herself in the matter before it is completed, perhaps 
more.” 


CHAPTEE XXI. 


OLD HOPES. 

Mrs. Merrion’s pleasant home became the center 
of attraction that winter for most of our friends in 
Madame Lynch’s establishment. Florian admitted 
to himself that absence had only intensified his feel- 
ings towards Euth. The years that had passed since 
their love story ended had honored her with new 
personal attractions. Her seriousness seemed less 
old-fashioned and more suited to her years than for- 
merly. Her well-cultured mind made her a charm- 
ing companion. She had a kind of boldness, too, 
which came in agreeably on certain occasions. When 
Barbara insisted on dressing her as nobly and richly 
as her appearance and years would sustain she 
entered into the spirit of the innovation, and became 
all at once a beautiful woman in the best sense of 
the phase, beautiful in mind and body. Florian was 
astonished at her glorious bloom. It was natural 
that the love still slumbering in his heart should 
awaken to an intenser life than ever. He did not 
wait to discuss the situation with his usual caution. 
He surrendered at once to so much loveliness, partly 
conscious that this flame would in the end consume 
him. 

Innocent Euth, deceived by the calmness of his 
manner — there was always a certain hopelessness in 
128 


OLD HOPES. 


129 


it, even when his chances seemed brightest — took no 
pains to prevent annoying consequences. She had a 
sincere friendliness for Florian, and some admiration 
for his character. He had improved since his depar- 
ture from Clayburgh. His was a distinguished ap- 
pearance, and there was about him such a conscious- 
ness of strength and power that most women suc- 
cumbed to it. Barbara Merrion Avas immensely 
taken with him. It was owing to her interference 
that Florian found himself so often in Kuth’s com- 
pany. 

Lunches, receptions, and theater parties brought 
together every week the boon companions, Peter and 
the Squire, Avho made no secret of their hopes and 
plans to marry Kuth and Florian. The poet, as 
often as he said to himself there was no hope for 
him in such a quarter, yet could never give up the 
chance to talk with Ruth and linger in her presence. 
Mrs. Merrion received none of his confidences, but 
aided him unsuspected of Florian and the other 
plotters. Thus the winter went on. Pendleton and 
Carter planned, debated, and feasted day and night, 
counting results long before there Avas any hope of 
achieving them. Florian and Paul dreamed pleas- 
antly, and Ruth Avas dimly aware of a change in her 
OAvn interior whose form she could not make clear 
to her perceptions. Barbara, the gracious marplot 
of the play, received neAV confidences daily and went 
about Avith the pleasant feelings of a cat who has a 
nest of young mice under her delicate paw. Only 
Paul Rossiter puzzled her still, and kept her from 
mischief. However, Florian soon cleared the field 
for her, and left her free to do what mischief she 
9 


130 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


pleased. He met Paul one day in the neighborhood 
of the post office, and the poet asked him why he 
looked so pale and jaded. 

“ You look worse than I ever saw you before,” he 
said. 

“ Work and pleasure,” Florian answered moodily, 
“ are too much for me. These soirees have upset me, 
and I must give them up.” 

“ When Miss Pendleton leaves,” said Paul cau- 
tiously. 

“ Ah I you know that,” said Florian quickly, for 
in all the winter they had rarely spoken about 
Kuth. 

“ Who could help knowing it, my dear boy ? A 
retired sort of a young man begins suddenly to 
frequent society, and is always seen at those places 
where a certain young lady is sure to be. Is not 
the inference easy ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ; and I never thought of that. Others, 
perhaps, will talk about it. But then she has not 
favored me more especially than other young men.” 

“ Myself, for instance. I should say not ! You 
are modest, of course ; a successful man is always. 
I wish you happiness, Florian, for I think you are 
going to marry an excellent woman.” 

“ I am not so near to that consummation,” said 
the lawyer, “ so your compliments are ill-timed. Did 
I ever tell you that — well what need to tell it now ? 
I suppose you are aware that Miss Pendleton is a 
Protestant ? ” 

“ FTo,” said Paul, in the highest astonishment. 
“ I was not. On the contrary, when I saw the at- 
tention you paid to her, and how intimate you 


OLD HOPES. 131 

appeared to be, I thought naturally she was a 
Catholic.” 

Well, that was a queer blunder ? And have you 
been talking of the Mass and confession, and other 
such topics to a Methodist of the deepest dye ? ” 

“ No,” said Paul ; “ society is such a hybrid thing 
that you can talk only nonsense to avoid offending 
some one. But then isn’t this a returning on prin- 
ciple, Florian? Have I not heard you say many 
times that you would never marry outside the faith, 
and hinted that you had already made sacrifices that 
were very great for a mere boy ? ” 

“ Love,” said Florian, concealing his confusion 
under a gay exterior, “ is universal and levels all 
distinctions.” 

“ Or rather, it is irresistible,” said Paul, with a 
laugh. It can level the lawyer and the common 
man, not the distinctions. The distinctions remain, 
the men do not. But really this is a surprise to me.” 

Florian could hardly congratulate himself on 
having a possible rival removed from the field, so 
very dark seemed his own chances, and he became 
unpleasantly conscious of one circumstance before 
Paul left his company. The poet was disappointed 
in him. Some high standard as to his friend’s 
character Paul had long ago formed in his own mind, 
and until this moment Florian had acted up to it in 
word and deed. Now the standard had fallen. He 
perceived it in his friend’s expression, and felt hum- 
bled, all the more that the departure of this rival, if 
he were a rival, did not mean his own success. They 
parted in gloom. Paul went home in deep medita- 
tion, and its chief point was the sweet face that had 


132 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


SO long haunted him and was now to disappear like 
a laid ghost. From that day he no longer sought 
out Kuth, was careful and reserved in her presence, 
and talked only on the prosiest of subjects. When- 
ever they came to talk of religion, she commended 
many points of Catholic doctrine. 

“ Once,” she ventured to say, “ I had nearly made 
up my mind to become a Catholic. But in some 
way or anotlier the design weakened, and finally it 
became repugnant even to think of it.” 

“ You surprise me,” said Paul. “ It seems to me. 
Miss Pendleton, that once you brought your intel- 
ligence to bear on a thing, something certain and 
good ought to result from it.” 

“ Thank you,” she answered. “ Xow that I have 
begun I may as well finish the story. Perhaps I 
was to blame. I did not belong by conviction to any 
sect. My dear mother was a Methodist. When I 
went to church it was to the Methodists I went. 
To tell the truth I cared little for them. I fell into 
a kind of enthusiasm over your church and read, 
thought, and prayed a little, and when my enthu- 
siasm cooled I dropped the matter.” 

“ May I ask,” said Paul, ‘‘ what you believe in 
now? ” 

“In everything good,” smiling as he shook his 
head. “ You thind that too vague ? Well, I lost 
heart, not for religion, but for any particular shape 
of it ” 

“ Except your own,” he interrupted. 

“ True. And I go to any church that suits the 
taste of the moment, now, and I am quite content, 
if my reason is not quite satisfied.” 


OLD HOPES. 


133 


“ You made a mistake somewhere.” 

“ Do you think so ? Where ? ” She was pleased at 
his finding fault with her so candidly and earnestly. 

“Why,” said Paul dubiously, “ that enthusiasm 
which made you uneasy with yourself and set you 
hunting for more light, was a special grace from God. 
If you had used it rightly, you would now be a 
Catholic, or at least a hearty believer in something. 
Whereas, you are not much of anything.” 

“ That is severe, Mr. Kossiter. I could not take 
warmly to Methodism, nor to any sect. They 
seemed too cold, or too silly, or too unreasonable. 
Your faith seemed too warm, and too — too — foreign, 
I suppose that’s the word.” 

He laughed and changed the subject, but his words 
were not forgotten. They gave Euth a sudden and 
clear insight into her former state of mind, and she 
saw at once the blunder she had committed in resist- 
ing the guidance of the Holy Spirit. After her 
failure to appreciate the claims of one religious 
belief she had drifted gently away from all, and had 
acquired a certain distrust of creeds. She had not 
become a better woman. Her charities were large 
enough, but the perfecting of her own nature was 
almost lost sight of, and she was in one respect only 
a small improvement on a virtuous pagan. Her first 
impulse was to repair the mischief of omission. But 
how ? She asked Paul the question a week later. 

“ I don’t know,” said he, “ you must find a way 
yourself. Test your belief by practising it, and when 
you get some clear ideas of religious duty, the rest 
will be easy, no doubt.” 

What could be more prudent and sensible than 


184 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


such a course. She followed it carefully the entire 
winter, to the intense delight of Barbara, who, not 
seeing the reason for it, used it as an argument for 
the Squire and Mr. Carter. When they grumbled 
at Paul’s steady attention to Kuth, she pointed out 
to them the devotion which Buth displayed in attend- 
ing the Methodist church and working for city 
charities. 

“ But Flory won’t like it,” said the Squire. “ He 
can’t marry a howling Methodist ” 

“ My dear Mr. Pendleton,” said Barbara, “ he will 
marry Kuth if she worshipped idols.” 

“ Aye,” said Peter, “ if she were the grand Lama 
itself.” 

“ Think so ? ” murmured the Squire, and he tried 
to believe it on the ground that the boy had got 
more sense and judgment from his stay in Hew York. 
He did not like Kuth’s sudden turn to religion. 

“ There’s something wrong,” he said to Florian. 
“ She always hated the Methodists. What is she so 
gone on them for now, I’d like to know. You re- 
member, Flory, the last time she kicked on you ? It 
was just after one of these religious spells. And if 
she doesn’t wind up by doing the same thing now, 
then I’m not the man who got left with Mackenzie 
on the north side of the St. Lawrence.” 

Florian quieted him for the time wdth the assur- 
ance that Ruth would not remain long with her pres- 
ent associations. He was quite right. Ruth soon 
tired of her attempts to fall in love with Methodism, 
but did not lose the desire to find a resting place, 
and she was bound not to return to the old ways of 
indifference. Again she asked Paul’s advice, one 


OLD HOPES. 


135 


bright evening as Barbara and she were returning 
from devotions at the Cathedral. He gave it briefly. 

“ Try something else, Miss Pendleton.” 

“ There is nothing left but your faith,” said she, 
“ and, while I do not care to approach it again, I 
have made up my mind to follow your advice, and 
study it once more.” 

“ In the right spirit,” he suggested. 

“ In the right spirit. I do not hope to find com- 
fort there, but constant trying will bring me to a 
conclusion of some kind.” 

“ Yery true,” he said, taking her hand. “ I hope 
you will make this resolution. Miss Pendleton, and 
follow wherever it will lead you. If you do, I am 
certain you will find rest and happiness. If you do not 
you wiU be a most unhappy woman. Good-night.” 

She replied in a low, trembling voice. He had 
been standing hat in hand, with the moonlight fall- 
ing upon his remarkable face, and shining in his 
honest eyes. In that moment Kuth loved the poet. 
She was not conscious of it, only of his goodness, 
but in after years she knew that her heart went out 
to him in that moment, and was never withdrawn. 

Lightly as Paul received the information of Kuth^s 
religious belief from Florian, it had hurt him deeply. 
It was not the poet’s way to make much of a hope- 
less matter, particularly when it bordered on affairs 
of conscience, and in the present instance he had 
hastened to remove many old impressions with re- 
gard to Euth, and was very careful to chase from 
his dreams the sweet fancies concerning her which 
had beguiled and lightened some heavy hours. He 
had seen at once what sort of a woman Euth was — 


136 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


no trifier to pay bide-and-seek with the serious things 
of life, but a woman full of earnestness — and he 
could therefore the more easily understand why 
Florian had not succeeded in making her his wife. 
Marrying, with her, was a matter of principle, not of 
feeling or of convenience or advantage alone. She 
had deep convictions of the truth and falsity of re- 
ligions, and of the necessity of one true faith, and 
her natural mental clearness forbade her imperiling 
these for the sake of her own likings. It was a firm 
soul indeed which could resist the heavy temptations 
to which she had been subjected, and he admired her 
the more for it, and prayed sincerely that her good- 
ness might win for her an entrance into the holy 
harbor this side of heaven. She had seemed to be 
in a state of doubt, and he had said some sharp, 
earnest words to her, partly because his deepest in- 
terest in her was dead and he was not afraid of 
offending, but more because he had taken her state- 
ments without due attention to the exaggeration of 
fancy. He did not believe she was as uncertain 
about Methodism as she thought. She had read and 
thought enough, no doubt, to get misty and unsettled 
in her religious views. But one does not leave old 
beliefs hastily, particularly so reverent and firm a 
believer as Kuth, and the very contemplation of a 
change would be apt to make her cling more tightly 
to old certainties. Women, too, as a rule, are dis- 
trustful to-day of the strength and truth of emotions 
which moved them yesterday. Of this Euth herself 
was an example, and she was probably now laughing 
over her own sentiment and his severity during their 
walk from the cathedral. 


OLD HOPES. 


137 


But in this he was wrong, and at his next visit 
she said : “ I was very much disturbed that evening 
coming from church, and was half resolved to go 
away from Kew York at once.” 

“ But you have thought better of it, I see. The 
music and the solemn service on a moonlight night 
give one enthusiastic notions. I am inclined always 
after them to go away and be a hermit ; but a sound 
sleep, or, better, an oyster supper on the way home, 
brings me back to my senses.” 

“ Oh ! but it was not the music, Mr. Eossiter. I 
had thought of many things a long time, until I 
knew not what to do, and I came to E^ew York partly 
in the hope of forgetting my mental troubles. I was 
succeeding — ^yes, I think I was succeeding — when 
your words spoiled all. Were you enthusiastic that 
evening, Mr. Eossiter, were you too earnest ? ” 

“ I have thought so since,” he said hesitatingly, 
“ but what I said was in itself true. When persons are 
in a state of doubt they are bound to get out of it.” 

“ But doubt is sometimes a temptation.” 

“ It can be banished by prayer, then, or by re- 
moving the exciting causes. But as I understood 
you, your doubt had only increased with time and 
thinking. There was something more in it than 
mere temptation. I know that even in that case an 
honorable doubt can be smothered, for there are 
many to whom such a grace was given and of their 
own will they destroyed it. I would not be in their 
shoes for worlds. 

“ But now,” added he playfully, and sorry to be so 
quickly drawn into this subject, “ I shall frighten 
you again by my earnestness.” 


138 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ No, no ; 1 am utterly helpless, Mr. Kossiter, and 
confused too. Let me tell you just the kind of 
doubts which trouble me. Your church has received 
so many Protestants that you must know something 
of their general state of mind, and perhaps you can 
help me. Pray do not refuse me,” when he had be- 
gun to decline the honor. “ I know what you would 
say, and it only urges me the more to speak to you. 
Eemember you are partly responsible for my late an- 
noyances, and, like an honest gentleman, you must 
help me out of my difficulties.” 

She did not give him time to raise any great ob- 
jections, but poured out her story. It was plainly 
and sensibly done, and he had no fault to find with 
her. 

“ I think,” said he, that you are in a peculiar 
state. I don’t believe any advocate of Methodism 
could ever convince you of its truth again.” 

“ Then you would advise me ” 

“ I would rather not take such a responsibility,” 
he interrupted. “ It is easy for you to draw infer- 
ences from what I have said. I can fancy your 
father and friends would not be very grateful to me 
for any advice.” 

“ They are of very little account to me,” she be- 
gan, and then stopped. “ What does it matter ? ” 
she continued. “ And, indeed, I am hasty and un- 
kind in dragging you into difficulty. I must beg 
your pardon and thank you for your kindness.” 

“ I fear you will think me timid,” he said, “ but in 
this country we are suspicious of converts. Eeligious 
thought is not very deep, and religious feeling not 
very steady. Women, too, are emotional creatures, 


OLD HOPES. 


139 


especially in religion. Some very bad blunders have 
already been committed. I do not wish to add to 
them. Let God’s grace work its way, and whatever 
I can do to aid it I shall do, but prudently.” 

“You speak wisely,” she replied, and then the 
conversation ended with Barbara’s entrance. 

It was the last time they were to meet in years, 
for Euth took the resolution that evening to retire 
for a time into a convent, and in the excitement of 
departure found no opportunity to call the poet to 
her side again. And Barbara Merrion was so eager 
to get rid of her, that she too forgot the propriety 
of affording him the consolation of a farewell meet- 
ing. 


CHAPTER XII. 


REJECTED. 

In his luxurious rooms Florian was sitting, ar- 
rayed in his dressing-gown, his hands clasped idly 
on his lap, his gaze wandering and frightened ; while 
before him stood the red, vexed, irritated Squire 
who had brought in the news of Ruth’s intended 
departure. 

“ What’s to be done, Flory — what’s to be done ? ” 

Florian knew there was but one thing to be done, 
and the utter hopelessness of success made him de- 
spondent. This was not as he would have had the 
scenery and properties when he came to declare his 
love. Pendleton had told him nothing more than 
that Ruth, disturbed by her old religious doubts, 
was going away to a convent. There was nothing 
to account for the train of thought and feeling which 
had led up to so surprising an event ; if the Squire 
knew anything he declined to talk about it. 

“ I had thought,” said Florian helplessly, ‘‘ of re- 
newing an old proposal.” 

“ Had you, my boy — had you ? ” cried Pendleton. 
“ Then it’s the only thing that will stop this flight 
— the only living, almighty thing.” 

“ But it’s useless to try it under such circumstan- 
ces,” Florian continued. “ She is upset in mind ; she 

has not shown any particular care for me since ” 

140 


REJECTED. 


141 


‘‘ What, Flory ! ” said the Squire, “ what are you 
talking of, lad ? Kot shown any particular care for 
you ! Why, man, it has been nothing but Florian here 
and Florian there to her friends, to her acquaint- 
ances, and to strangers since she came to 'New York. 
‘Do you know Florian Wallace?’ was her first 
question, until Mrs. Merrion had to tell her it looked 
as if you were engaged still.” 

Florian’s shrewder sense told him that the Squire’s 
likings had taken the place of his powers of obser- 
vation, but it was very sweet to know that some 
people thought Kuth willing to renew the old re- 
lationship. And she was going away ? It might be 
the last chance of testing her feelings, and if the 
result were unfavorable no harm would be done. 
They would be sure to understand each other better. 

A great slice of the romance of Florian’s character 
had been devoured by the capacious jaws of his 
political ambition. Sensibility and delicacy were 
less fine, evidently, or he would have seen how very 
much injury this surrender of old principle would do 
him, and how hurtful it was to his own sense of honor 
and religion. He looked at the position, not as a 
lover torn with doubts as to the result of his action, 
but as a man of the world taking his chances, 
shrugging his shoulders at failure, mildly muttering 
bravo at success. It was not a thing to be mourned 
over long, though. 

“ If you wouldn’t insist on — on the old condition,” 
the Squire began. 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Florian. “ I have got over 
that. I’ll take her no matter how she comes.” 

“ 0 Lord ! ” cried the delighted father, “ then it 


142 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


is settled. She’ll not go to the convent. Now, my 
lad, just brush up and get over to Barbery’s for 
lunch, for she’s packing up and may be off at any 
moment.” 

Florian felt as he dressed that his position was 
similar to that of one arraying himself for decapita- 
tion. But he proceeded calmly and heroically to his 
doom, and at two o’clock that afternoon was lunch- 
ing with Barbara and Euth in the pretty dining- 
room in Brooklyn. Euth was pale and worn, but 
determined. Florian knew that look of old and 
what it meant, better than her father. He received 
notice of her departure with an air of well-bred sur- 
prise. “ There is one consolation in it,” Barbara 
said — “ it’s the end of the season. But then there 
was so much for Euth to see which does not belong 
to fashionable life, and so many people will be dis- 
appointed.” 

“ The disappointment of the many troubles Euth 
very little,” said he, with pointed reference to her 
indifferent expression. 

“ I never thought of them,” Euth answered 
wearily, “ and I’m sure they never once thought of 
me ; nor do I care.” 

“ You never did,” said Florian, and both ladies 
felt an iciness in the tone that gave a double mean- 
ing to the words. When the lunch was ended 
Barbara left them together. 

“ This sudden flight,” said Florian, ‘‘ looks remark- 
able, but I know you never do anything hastily. Is 
it a homeward flight ? ” 

“ No,” said Euth frankly, “ it goes heavenward — 
at least I hope so.” 


EEJECTED. 


143 


“ You are always flying in that direction,” he 
said with quiet sarcasm. 

“ Not always, but I am to make a good effort this 
time.” And her lips were compressed for an instant. 
“I am disgusted with my own doubts and I am 
going to rid myself of them forever. I am in a 
search for certainty.” 

“ I offered it to you once,” he said indifferently. 

“ And I am sure I did well in refusing it tlien^ 
Florian.” 

Why did she put such a stress on that last word ? 
It made his heart bound like a frightened deer, but 
he was silent until she added: “And don’t you 
think so too ? ” 

“ Why should I ? If it was for your benefit, I say 
yes ; but if it has condemned me to a course of 
suffering that ambition alone could smother ” 

Her amused laugh interrupted him. 

“ Then j^ou smothered it with ambition ? ” 

“ With the aid of hopelessness,” he answered 
bitterly. “ Did I not know you well and myself 
too?” 

“ I must say you did, and I am sorry to think I 
did not know you better. Through all this winter I 
was afraid you would propose again.” 

“ The winter is not over yet, Euth.” 

“ But I am gone from the world. Florian, I shall 
never come to New York again. I like home best, 
and if I come into the world once more it will be to 
live and die outside of this turmoil and uproar. You 
cannot applaud that decision ? ” 

‘‘ No, for I had hoped to induce you to remain in 
it as long as I would.” His face, in spite of his self- 


144 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


control, groAV for one moment ashen pale, and the 
tone which accompanied these words brought Kuth 
to her feet flushing with pain. 

“ O Florian,” she cried, “ you surely don’t mean 


“ Why not ? ” he answered severely. “ You may 
have cast aside my love easily enough, but I find it 
harder to forget. Kuth, I have not ceased to love 
you since I left Clayburgh, nor have I ceased to hope. 
You are looking for certainty and rest. You will 
find them here.” And he held out his arms 
invitingly. 

“ If you were not so very sincere,” she said, and 
stopped. There was a restrained and awkward 
silence for a long time, until both came slowly to 
their cooler selves. 

“ You have honored me, Florian,” she said gently ; 
“ but it is an honor I cannot accept. I am still a 
Protestant ” 

‘‘ Pray let that pass,” he said hastily. “ I do not 
insist on your becoming a Catholic. My love has 
risen above such distinctions.” 

The hand which she placed on his shoulder fell 
from it suddenly and, looking up, he saw an expres- 
sion of surprise and grief on her face and quickly 
interpreted it. 

I had always thought that a principle with you,” 
she said slowly. 

“ Principles suffer from the wear of time,” he 
answered, “ as well as ourselves, though we are 
immortal.” 

“ 0 Florian ! ” She spoke the words in deepest 
sorrow. “ I hope there are very few things to which 


REJECTED. 


146 


you cling as poorly. That is one of my principles 
yet. You accused me a moment ago of forgetting, 
but that I have not forgotten.” 

“ It is because I love you,” he replied sadly ; “ and 
I fear I could forget much more because of you.” 

“ I am not worthy of it, Florian.” 

“ O Ruth ! ” Her two hands were on her lap and 
he seized them passionately. “ Is there no hope ? 
Can we never resurrect that sweet past that lies 
buried with Linda by the river ? ” 

“ Never,” — she said the words with an effort — “ no 
more than we can resurrect Linda.” ^ 

He dropped her hands with a long look of grief 
and pain ; he realized fully that he was losing her 
forever, and her last words put his sentence in its 
best form so that he could not misunderstand it. 

“ But you must know why I am going,” she said 
after a pause ; “ for you are my best friend, and, 
although you have hurt me by this scene, I cannot 
but feel that you have honored me beyond deserving. 
Do you know that, while I could not join the 
Catholic Church or leave my own, I always had a 
doubt as to the truth of Methodism, but it took long 
to convince me that my position of doubt was sinful. 
I have found out at last that to remain willingly in 
that state is sin, and by the grace of God I am going 
to rid myself of it forever.” 

If you had had that feeling in the old days,” 
said Florian, “ what a happy story ours would have 
been.” 

“ Why did you not give me the feeling % ” she said 
sharply. “ Why did you leave it for Mr. Rossiter 
to do ? ” 

lO 


146 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ It was an oversight,” he said in surprise. “ But 
I was not aware that Paul talked religion to you. 
He is stricter even than I am in such matters.” 

“ I told him of my former nearness to the Church, 
and he lectured me one night for not making proper 
use of the graces I had then received, and filled me 
with dread of my present position. It has rankled 
in my heart since. It has led to my present deter- 
mination. Ah ! he has the poet’s soul.” 

“ It was a moonlight night ? ” questioned Florian. 

“I think so. Yes, I remember now it was. His 
eyes shone so when he bade me good-night, and he 
stood looking upward.” 

“ I thought it,” he said quietly, and she did not 
notice the sarcasm, for her memory was dwelling 
on the splendor of the poet’s eyes. “ And so you are 
going away to hunt up the blessed certainty of the 
faith ! Is it not a queer place to settle one’s doubt 
in a hot-bed of Catholicity ? For instance, if I went 
to the Whigs to learn the strength of some doubts I 
had concerning Democracy.” 

“ I am certain of this,” said she : “ that Method- 
ism is not Christianity, and I am going to investi- 
gate Catholicity where it shines brightest, and take 
that as the standard.” 

“ W ell, that is wise. When you return to Clay burgh 
I shall be sure to meet you, for I am going up there 
some day. I shall wait until you shall return, or 
mayhap longer if politics offer me inducements.” 

“ You say that because you think I would say it,” 
she replied. “ You will never go to Clay burgh to 
see anybody, Florian ; you will never see it again, 
unless on business or when brought there to die. If 


REJECTED. 


147 


you can prophesy of me, why not I of you ? Good- 
bye. Why did you not bring your poet with you ? ” 

“He knows nothing of your departure. You 
would have gone without a word to him, to whom 
you should be very grateful.” 

“ I shall be,” she said very tenderly, “ always.” 

And so they parted. Barbara met him in the hall 
on his way out, and was surprised and pleased to see 
no evidence of strong emotion about him. She had 
looked for a romantic love storm. 

“ How that we are losing Euth,” said she, “ I trust 
we shall not also lose the pleasure of seeing you fre- 
quently.” 

“ That would be a distinction I never could have 
deserved,” said Euth. “Florian can never forget 
your kind hospitality.” 

“ True,” said Florian ; “ if I could I would be sadly 
wanting in gratitude.” 

“ Is it so amicably settled ? ” whispered Barbara 
to him at the door ; and when he nodded, she said, 
“ I am so very glad. W e shall not lose you entirely.” 
And Florian departed, puzzled, disappointed, yet 
pleased by the tender tone of her voice. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


THE INQUISITORS. 

With the flight of Ruth the second act in the comedy 
ended, and the curtain was rung down on Madame 
Lynch’s boarding-house. Y ery much like a deserted 
play-house it looked in the days that followed. 
Florian was deep in the preparation for a congres- 
sional campaign with his name at the bead of the 
ticket, so that he was rarely seen in the handsome 
rooms where hung the yachting picture. Frances, 
buoyed up by a hope which love only could hold out 
to her, was touched ^t times with the green melan- 
choly, but smiled oftener and was happy at a word 
or a look from her ideal of manhood. Paul worked 
away in the attic at plays, essays, and poems, and 
was troubled because of a sudden coldness which had 
sprung up between him and Florian. Peter and the 
Squire alone seemed to retain that boisterous spirit of 
frolic which had enlivened the wiuter, but for want 
of encouragement displayed very little of it. Every 
spirit was dulled, and life seemed to have met with 
so unpleasant a lull that a storm was necessary to 
rouse the people who floated in it like motes in a 
sunbeam. 

The summer passed and lengthened into fall. 
Florian’s run for Congress set the house in a ferment. 
It was a great thing to have one of the boarders 
148 


THE INQUISITORS. 


149 


graduating from the front parlor to Congress, and 
when the election had passed and he was returned 
by a handsome majority the reception tendered him 
by Madame Lynch was superb. All the world was 
there, and in some way it began to be understood 
that Frances was the lucky woman who would draw 
the lion of the day in the matrimonial lottery. It 
was on the evening of this reception that two gentle- 
men called upon Florian while he was engaged among 
the guests. It was after eleven, and, unless the mat- 
ter was urgent, the great man could not be seen till 
after midnight. 

“We can go to the hotel,” said one gentleman to 
the other, “ and rest until that time. Y ou will please 
tell Mr. Wallace that a gentleman on important busi- 
ness will call upon him after the reception. As he is 
compelled to leave the city early in the morning, he 
must see him during the course of the night.” 

They went away without further trouble, and the 
servant naturally forgot to mention their visit or 
message. Coming to his room a little after one, 
jaded and depressed, deep as was the draught of 
popularity which he had quaffed, Florian threw him- 
self on a chair and gave himself up to aimless thought. 
A pier-glass stood directly in front of him, and he 
had a full and fair view of the new Congressman — 
the petted idol of society, the present form of the seri- 
ous yet light-hearted boy who fished, swam, and 
loved not many years back on the St. Lawrence. It 
was a delightful but not a satisfactory feeling which 
his new honors gave him. There was no fullness 
about the heart, no complete lull of that bitter crav- 
ing of ambition which had vexed him so long. He 


150 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


could hardly realize that this elegant gentleman with 
brown, parted beard, and pale serious face was really 
he who had loved Euth Pendleton. 

The mirror which reflected his form seemed to 
center all its light on him. The background was 
very dark, and yet while he was looking a shadowy 
face seemed to grow out of the darkness and come 
nearer to him. He watched and studied it as a curi- 
ous phantom of the brain, until a cough reached 
his ears and notified him that a person had really 
entered the room. The first look at the stranger led 
Florian to believe that he was dreaming, for the man 
who stood gravely there, as if waiting to be wel- 
comed, was the living image of Scott, the hermit of 
the Thousand Islands, when last he had seen him at 
Linda’s grave: cap worn in helmet-fashion, blue 
shirt and high boots, and the red beard with the 
sharp blue eyes shining above. He made no move- 
ment and uttered no word, but stood looking at 
Florian until a chill crept down the Congressman’s 
shoulders. 

“ Scott, is this you ? ” he said, holding out his 
hand. “ You look like an apparition.” 

“ And so I am,” said Scott, taking the proffered 
hand for a moment — “ a ghost of the past. Could I 
be more out of place than in this grand house ? ” 

‘‘ You don’t look so,” said Florian, who felt that 
the hermit’s simplicity would not be amiss in the 
homes of kings, and he held tightly to his hand 
and shook and pressed it as if he never would let 
go. 

“ This is the hand Linda held,” he said in excuse 
for his rudeness. “ You have overthrown me quite. 


THE INQUISITORS. 151 

I am glad, but I can’t feel as if anything new had 
happened, you came so suddenly.” 

The hermit went around examining the room in 
his simple way, stopped at the picture of Linda for 
a moment, for a longer time at the picture of Euth. 

“ This should not be here,” he said, “ if I know 
what’s what in this city.” 

“ True,” said Florian : “ but it’s hard to do right 
always.” 

“ 'Not for you,” said the hermit, and suspicious 
Florian felt a harshness in the tone. “ Kot for one 
who in the main acts squarely is it hard. Do you 
think so ? ” 

“ Some things are so much harder than others,” 
was the reply, very slowly and smilingly given. 
“ But this is a cold greeting, Scott. I feel the honor 
you have done me. It is something unusual for you 
to do, and I am troubled to show you how it im- 
presses me.” 

“ No anxiety on my account,” said Scott, coming 
to take a seat in front of him, with his eyes still 
studying the beauty of the room. ‘‘ I must be off 
before daylight. And so you’re a Congressman ? ” 

“ High up, isn’t it ? ” said Florian, blushing like a 
school boy. “ I am pretty close to great things, too 
close to make much fuss if I should get them. And 
you remember what you said to me about political 
life — that it would be my damnation, perhaps. Ah ! 
how many a greater man must live to eat his own 
prophecy.” 

“ I have not eaten mine yet,” said Scott, “ and 
perhaps I hold a leetle mite stronger to that opinion. 
Being a Congressman at thirty-one isn’t so great a 


152 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


show. It’s ordinary in these days, and it’s not an 
evidence of piety either ; do you think so ? ” 

‘‘Well, no,” and he laughed. “But then I have 
not lost the faith. I am the same old Florian, fond 
of speculating, of fishing, of old friends, and of Scott 
the hermit, in particular. I am a boy yet, and I re- 
semble St. Paul inasmuch as I have kept the faith. 
My course is yet to be finished.” 

“ Ho doubt you will be able to say that too, some 
time,” said Scott, and Florian thought his seriousness 
was intended to mask his sarcasm. 

“ Ho doubt, Scott. And you hint that I shall be 
able to say no more. Pshaw ! I went to confession 
and Communion last — last spring, and I never miss 
Mass. I have no taint of liberalism. I object to 
papal infallibility, and that is not yet defined. 

“ And do you object to mixed marriages ? ” 

A burning fiush spread over Florian’s face. 

“ Well, I am firm as to the theory if not as to the 
practice. But I was not aware that many knew of 
this, indeed.” 

“ Squire Pen’l’ton knew it.” 

“Which means that the whole world is in the 
secret.” 

“ It was a big fall from Clayburgh notions,” Scott 
said, with his sharp eyes piercing his very soul. 

“I was only a boy then and had no experience.” 

“ If you were mine I would be prouder of the boy’s 
actions than of the man’s. It was a fair and square 
move to keep clear of Protestant wives for the sake 
of the little ones. I don’t think you improved on 
it.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but the world, I find, thinks little 


THE INQUISITORS. 


153 


of these things. I shall always regret my Clayburgh 
obstinacy on that point.’’ He looked up sadly to 
the picture hanging over the bookcase, and his firm 
lips trembled. He had lost it forever, and no one 
to blame but himself. 

“ I shall always regret it, Scott — always.” 

“ I’ve no doubt,” the hermit said shortly ; “ an’ 
you’ll lose more time than that before you wind up.” 

“ See, friend,” said Florian, turning with playful 
sharpness upon him, “ I have an idea you came here 
simply to haul me over the coals. If so, proceed 
to the coals. I’m more honored than before, for 
a man must think much of another to travel so far 
for his sake alone.” 

The hermit drew a bit of newspaper from his 
pocket, and, after smoothing out its wrinkles and 
creases, handed it to him. “ Pere Kougevin gave me 
that,” he said ; “ it is an extract from one of your 
stump speeches. I think he doubted it, but I'd like 
to hear your opinion on the thing. It’s something 
new.” 

Florian read as follows : Education belongs 
properly to the state, and any attempt to rival its 
systems cannot fail to be hurtful to all. After some 
experience in the matter I am convinced that our 
public school system is as fair an attempt at govern- 
mental education as can be attained at present. All 
other systems should be frowned upon. Eeligion 
must attend to its churches and its catechism, and 
let general education alone.” 

“ It is mine,” said Florian frigidly and briefly. 

Without a word the hermit dropped it into the 
wastebasket, and, arising, he began aimlessly to read 


154 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


the titles of the works in the library. Decidedly 
Florian was not feeling as pleasant over this visit 
as he expected, and the hermit’s allusion to mixed 
marriages and the producing of the extract cut him 
deeply. What was the next crime ? he wondered. 

“ Them titles and names,” said Scott, “ don’t sound 
well. Yoltaire, Strauss, Heine, Goethe, Hobbes, 
Hume. If I’m not wrong, them’s the people have 
done as much harm to the world as men could do.” 

Florian laughed at his pronunciation of the names 
for Goethe was called Goathe, and Yoltaire Yoltary. 

“I bought them out of curiosity,” Florian ex- 
plained. “ People talked of them and their authors 
until I felt ashamed of knowing nothing more about 
them than what I had read. They did not impress 
me much, I can tell you.” 

“ Ho, I s’pose not. They usually don’t, such 
books.” He was turning over periodical literature, 
and, recognizing among them some of the worst 
sheets of the day, pointed to them as one would to 
a rotten carcass, saying, “ I’ve heard the Pere give 
his opinion of them things.” 

“And it was not a favorable one, I feel sure. 
Well, a politician must see and read things in order 
to keep abreast of the times. They leave no impres- 
sion on me, save regret for the folly and the crime 
which produced them.” 

“ The whole place,” said Scott, “ has a literary 
atmosphere. I should think you’d want to keep it 
pure. You were brought up to pure air, pure think- 
ing, pure doing. But this,” with a comprehensive 
gesture around, “don’t look anything like your 
bringing up.” 


THE INQUISITORS. 


155 


Florian was gnawing his lip with vexation by this 
time, for the hermit ignored his arguments, his 
attacks and defense and apology entirely, and spoke 
as if in a soliloquy. 

“ Bringing up was a little roughly done in Clay- 
burgh,” said he carelessly, “ and a little narrow- 
minded. If I had remained there I would have 
gone on ignorant of the world and its great though 
erring minds. It does not injure a man to know of 
his great brethren, even if they be fallen.” 

“ Has it done you any good ? ” asked the hermit, 
fixing once more upon him the gentle eyes. “ You 
say you read ’em because you wanted to talk about 
’em with people who had them on their lips always. 
Well, you’ve done your talkin’ and your end is 
reached. Whar’s the good ? ” 

“ I have learnt something from their errors and 
from their story, like the sailor who passes the scene 
of a comrade’s shipwreck. You will never find me 
advocating Eousseau’s civil-government ideas or be- 
lieving in — but I beg you pardon ; I had forgotten 
that you were unacquainted with these things. Dry 
enough, aren’t they, even when compared with dry 
politics ! But here, my dear friend, this is not what 
you came for from Clay burgh. Y ou have some news 
for me, have you not ? How’s the fishing in Eel Bay ? 
And how do people comport themselves in the staid 
old town ? ” 

“I don’t know much about ’em, but I believe 
they’re well. Your sister’s eldest child died, you 
know ” — he did not, but thought it best to say noth- 
ing — “ and your father, as you heard, had a narrow 
escape with rheumatism of the heart.” 


156 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


He had not heard that either, and was ashamed 
to think that letters from home had been lying un- 
opened and forgotten for weeks on his table. 

“ They was kind of expectin’ you’d show up there 
soon. They don’t know your vocation is so well set- 
tled, and they thought your likin’s was stronger.” 

Business with a young man,” said Florian, ‘‘ is 
usually too pressing to admit of much recreation.” 

“I s’pose.” The tone of these two words was 
delightful, and, although they stung him, Florian 
was compelled to laugh. 

“ When you return, Scott, you can tell them how 
well I am looking and how neatly my new office fits 
me. Hext year I shall try to deliver an oration at 
their Fourth of J uly turn out. And to this you can 
add 3^our own opinions of me.” 

“ I would not like to,” said Scott, shaking his head ; 
“ it wouldn’t please your friends to know you are 
as you are. You’ve changed, boy, for the worse. 
The man that reads such books and thinks as you 
think — he’s on the wrong road. I hope for Linda’s 
sake you won’t reach its end. That little grave ought 
to be a reproach to you. I have a paper that you 
writ before you left, and I brought it down, th inkin’ 
perhaps you might care to read it.” 

“ Honsense ! ” said Florian roughly ; ‘‘ let the 
buried past stay in its grave.” 

The hermit sighed secretly, and before either could 
speak again a knock came to the door, and Pere 
Kougevin entered and shook hands with Florian 
warmly. 

“ Glad to see you in your new honors, Flory,” 
with the gentle, upward wave of the hand that the 


THE INQUISITORS. 


157 


young man knew so well : “ hope they will wear and 
stand a public washing. Scott here is quite sober- 
looking. You’ve been recalling old reminiscences. 
What a fine library ! Standard works, too ! Um, 
um ! Y oltaire — oh 1 Goethe — ah ! Housseau — there’s 
the politician ! Your reading is comprehensive, 
Flory, shining, like the sun, on the good and bad 
indifferently ! There’s the mind of your true modern 
statesman.” 

“ See the difference between the two men,” said 
Florian smiling, yet quite aware of the Pere’s biting 
sarcasm. “ Here this vicious hermit has been revil- 
ing me for reading these things.” 

“Well, Scott has old-fashioned views,” said the 
Pere. “He hardly understands the vigor of the 
faith in our rising Catholic generation — how easily 
these assaults of Satan are beaten back by their 
vigorous arms, and how quickly these snows of in- 
fidelity melt from them, like water off a duck’s back, 
as the old lady said. But no one can persuade him. 
He is morbid and melancholy. He would have us 
all hermits.” 

Scott rose and prepared to go. 

“ I am sorry for you,” he said, with a look at 
Florian, more direct and earnest than he usually 
gave to any one. “ Good-bye.” 

“ Good-by,” said Florian, but they did not shake 
hands. The Pere was standing with his eyes on 
Kuth’s picture. 

“ That should not be there,” he said, as he offered 
his hand for the parting salute ; “ but the old love 
seems to die hard.” 

“Shall I see you in Washington this winter?” 


158 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


said Florian, ignoring these remarks. “ You are 
always talking of a visit there ; surely you will make 
it now.” 

It is likely, thank you, unless” — and he looked 
at him shyly — “ you begin to make speeches on edu- 
cation.” 

He was gone the next instant, and the Congress- 
man, weary and irritated, returned to his medita- 
tions in disgust. These two men were slowly fading 
opt of his life, and it was hard to endure in silence 
their rustic sarcasms. Even if their charges were 
true, what use in making them ? He would not go 
back to the rusticity of Clayburgh. 

The mention of Linda’s grave had stirred him and 
it brought back her dying words and the sweet love 
she had for him. “ I wonder,” he thought, curiously 
as he fell asleep — ^he would once have spurned the 
thought with indignation — “ if I could ever forget 
that last scene and those last words. O Linda ! I 
pray with all my heart that we may meet again.” 


CHAPTEK XIY. 


MYSTERY. 

The clouds had been gathering over the city of 
Washington during a warm December afternoon, 
and after sunset the rain began to fall, lightly at 
first in a troublesome drizzle, and later in a heavy 
downpour. The municipal almanac had announced 
a full moon, and although the threatening of the 
heavens was plain enough for six hours before dark- 
ness, the ofiicials preferred to stand by the almanac 
and leave pedestrians and thieves to stumble and 
grow profane in the Egyptian darkness. A private 
dwelling on one street had the lamp lighted before 
its own doors, and under this lamp at the same mo- 
ment two dripping gentlemen stopped for the purpose 
of lighting cigars. The Hon. Florian Wallace 
shivered slightly at the first impression of the 
stranger’s face, it was so white, so dull, so cruel ; the 
fiickering light of the lamp, and the red glow of the 
match gave it a very sinister expression besides. 
The stranger looked at him slyly but strangely for 
a long time, as if studying a long forgotten scene 
and trying to place it in his memory. 

In fact, Florian grew nervous while they stood in 
that central spot of light, and the inquisitive glances 
of the stranger pained him. With a hasty remark 
159 


160 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


about the weather, he plunged into the darkness. 
He had walked the streets on such nights many a 
time, had met with people more disgusting than the 
stranger, had faced dangerous characters even, and 
had never feared as he had to-night. It might have 
been the strain of the day’s labor. He was ready to 
laugh at himself when he had reached his hotel. In 
its warmth and brightness he felt ashamed of his 
feelings. It was awkward that in the loneliness of 
his room the face should return to his mind like the 
memory of a portrait, shaping its thin lips, sharp eyes, 
yellow beard, and coldness against a darkness of 
wind and rain. The rush of business next day pre- 
vented him from dwelling on it often, and until he 
came to speak on some bill in the house he did not 
once recall it. He was in the middle of a speech, 
when he stopped, stammered through a sentence, 
hesitated, and then, with an effort, resumed his speech 
and finished. The cause of the interruption was a 
glimpse he had gotten of the stranger in the gallery 
surveying him with an opera glass. 

However, he ceased to be troublesome within 
a day or two, and when Mrs. Merrion arrived in 
town and sent him notice of her first ball the 
stranger had almost faded from his memory. The 
ball was a brilliant affair. Uniforms of embassies 
were sprinkled plentifully through the throng, 
and Mrs. Merrion gazed upon them in ecstatic 
delight. 

“ If there is anything I do like,” said she, with a 
giggle to Florian, “ it is the army, navy, and em- 
bassy uniforms. They give such an air to a room 1 
By the way,” she added, “ I wish you to make the 


MYSTERY. 


161 


acquaintance of one of the nicest young men here 
to-night.” 

They proceeded to the music-room and heard a 
tenor voice rolling off some foreign syllables. 

“ That is he,” said Barbara ; “ he is a Eussian, a 
count, and holds first rank at the embassy. He is 
handsome, witty, good-humored, talented, and his 
voice speaks for itself.” 

When they entered the room the Eussian count 
was leaving the piano. 

“ Count Yladimir Behrenski — the Honorable Flor- 
ian Wallace.” 

The gentleman bowed low, offered his hand, and 
warmly pressed Florian’s. 

“How you are already friends,” said Barbara, 
leaving them, “ and you shall be rivals in my good 
graces.” 

“ They are so many,” said the Count. “ Mr. 
Wallace, I have been desiring to know you this long 
time, since it came to me that I saw in you a 
wonderful resemblance to a noble Eussian family — 
a family of royal connections, in truth. The like- 
ness is very clear and very exact.” 

“ You surprise me,” said Florian. “ It would 
interest the noble family, I’m sure, to know an 
American citizen honored them by personal resem- 
blance.” 

“ Your resemblance is so very close and exact to 
the Prince Louis of Cracow,” the Count said medi- 
tatively. “ If there were Eussians here acquainted 
with him they would take you for him, but that 
his hair is light.” 

“ I may be an offshoot. Count. My mother came 

II 


162 


SOLITAllY ISLAND. 


from Ireland, and no doubt Kussians emigrated 
thither sometime. We are descended from princes, 
I know.” 

“ Yes, the Irish are a princely race, more so than 
others Europeans — the island being small, I think, 
and the word prince having a wide application. 
You were born in this country, sir ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, and nursed and educated into Yankee 
notions.” 

“They are very elastic, these Yankee notions,” 
said the Count. “ Would you call the pretty hostess, 
Mrs. Merrion, a Yankee notion ? ” 

“ The term is hardly used that way,” Florian an- 
swered. “ But you seem to think Mrs. Merrion of an 
elastic disposition.” 

“ She is a fine woman, delightful ; but it is hard to 
understand her. We know two classes of women in 
Europe — the very good, and the very bad. It is easy 
to tell at once the class. E'ot so with your Ameri- 
can ladies. Your code of manners is elastic. It is a 
Yankee notion.” 

“ Purely,” said Florian, uneasy at the drift of the 
Count’s remarks. “ It would hardly suit the Kussian 
climate.” 

The Count shook his head and laughed at the idea. 

“ Yet it is very amusing at first. There is a fine 
uncertainty about it, and it sharpens the faculties 
wonderfully. They tell me you are one of the rising 
men, Mr. Wallace ? ” 

“ Gradually rising,” laughed Florian. “ I have the 
White House in view.” 

“Four years of power — just a mouthful. Bah! 
And you strive for years like giants to get the place. 


MYSTERY. 


168 


I had rather be a count over a little village than such 
a man. If you were offered a princeship to-morrow 
and the presidency at the same moment, which to 
you would be the nearest to choose ? ” 

“ That which is perpetual,” said Florian gravely, 
“ of course. But we never have perpetual power in 
this country.” 

‘‘ I know. I referred to other countries. Suppose 
you were heir to some distant noble family of Ire- 
land ? ” 

“ An earldom would satisfy me,” said Florian. 

He stopped, his face whitened, and his jaw fell. 
At the window near which they stood appeared the 
cold outlines of the haunting face, its cruelty outlin- 
ing itself so sharply and suddenly on the pane as to 
overwhelm him with terror. He recovered himself 
speedily, but did not finish the sentence. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” said the Count, with much 
sympathy. 

‘^Oh! a weakness of mine,” said Florian. “You 
will excuse me for a time, until I have recovered 
myself.” 

The Count bowed, and Florian went silently out 
into the garden and strode along the walk, hot from 
anger. It was plain the face was haunting him, and 
for a purpose. He could not explain it, but he was 
determined to put an end to it, a determination 
which came to nothing for he never saw the face of 
the stranger again. Clayburgh did, however, and 
had a quietly exciting time over it. One late train 
from Hew York made the railway station a pleasant 
place each evening for the public personages of the 
village. Squire Pendleton and Mr. Wallace, whom 


164 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


his neighbors knew and respected as Billy, were 
prominent at these receptions. Visitors found the 
welcoming stare of the villagers rather trying, and 
often slipped away under cover of the darkness from 
the rear platform of the last car. On a certain night 
in April the only passenger on the train played this 
disgusting trick on the reception committee, which 
went home in a profane mood, leaving Billy Wallace 
to watch for him a half hour, and to report progress 
the next evening. 

Billy began to parade the platform in deep medi- 
tation. The lamp with its strong reflection was shin- 
ing at the door, and he passed and repassed the line 
of light, stopping at times to blink at the curious 
scientiflc phenomenon of a thing you could not look 
at steadily. Out on the water a few patches of twi- 
light were still burning like expiring lamps, and a 
few forms walked and talked in the gathering dark- 
ness, while trainmen and officials rolled in the freight 
and hurled bad language at the bad boys. It was 
after a few turns up and down the platform that 
Billy became aware of a gentleman’s presence a few 
feet distant, whose outline impressed him with a 
sense of strangeness. His face could not be seen, 
and he was idly leaning against the building. With 
customary boldness Billy walked up to him, bade 
him good evening, made remarks on the weather, 
asked if he was a stranger in town, how long he was 
going to stay, and could he be of any use to him ; 
to some of which the stranger did not reply, and at 
the rest merely grunted— grunted so impolitely that 
only personal considerations prevented Billy from 
knocking him down. He resumed his walking, 


MYSTERY. 


165 


noticed that the gentleman was observing him 
closely, turned abruptly, and went home. He was 
half-way up the street when it occurred to him that 
this might be the traveler who had eluded them by 
stepping off at the rear end of the train ; as he had 
walked up the hill in the heat of indignation, so he 
rushed back again in the heat of curiosity, and came 
upon the stranger standing unconcernedly under a 
lamp-post, looking around him. He turned his gaze 
on Billy. It may have been the unexpectedness of 
meeting him that puzzled the old gentleman’s facul- 
ties, for he stopped in confusion, gasped out “ The 
divill” faintly, and fled with the idea that the 
stranger was in pursuit. 

Mrs. Winifred, sitting calmly in the back parlor 
sewing, and weaving in a tear with an occasional 
stitch as she thought of the gay voices that made the 
night pleasant years ago, heard the door open and 
shut violently, and saw Billy, as in a vision, appear 
and throw himself in a chair exhausted, with the 
sweat on his brow and his face wrinkleless from 
terror. Nothing alarming in his appearance ever 
provoked alarm in Mrs. Winifred, and she continued 
her sewing without comment or question. 

Behind her, but some distance to her left, was a 
window looking out into the garden, and opposite 
to the window hung a mirror so placed that, without 
seeing herself in it, Mrs. Winifred could see the 
window, whose curtain was only half down. In one 
casual glance at the mirror she saw outlined against 
the darkness behind the window a white, peculiar 
face. She dropped her eyes immediately on her 
work, in fear that her senses were misleading her ; 


166 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


and when she was certain of the place, the hour, the 
work in her hands, and the very stitches, she looked 
again. There was the face still, ugly, pale, and cruel 
— the very face that had so disturbed Florian dur- 
ing the winter in Washington. She could see noth- 
ing else. A feeling of horror began to creep over 
her, a nervous dread that the terrible sight would 
direct its glances to her ; but she \vas so fascinated, 
and terrified, and doubtful of herself, that she did not 
venture to move, only sat there staring and fearing 
and waiting like a criminal until it disappeared. 

It became known the next day that a foreign 
gentleman was stopping at the Fisherman’s Ke treat ; 
and this was the first piece of information which was 
hurled at Billy when he made his appearance next 
morning to institute inquiries as to the stranger with 
the mysterious countenance. He could speak but 
very little English, seemed to be a sort of Dutchman, 
and impressed the people very favorably. He made 
himself acquainted, by sight at least, with all the 
villagers, and was more talked about than if he were 
the president. One day he would spend his time 
wandering about the docks, watching the boats or 
the stormy waves ; another he would be seen in this 
or that quarter staring, simply staring. 

Pere Bougevin, reading his weekly Freeman after 
dinner, was moved to look out of the window by a 
passing shadow, and saw the stranger’s face the very 
first moment, thinking it very disagreeable. The 
stranger was looking at the church — a plain, homely 
affair not worth inspection — but it pleased him so 
much that he came in to ask by signs for permission 
to enter. The Fere spoke to him in French, German 


MYSTERY. 


167 


and English, but he shook his head, muttering very 
raw syllables. 

“ You are a Kussian,” said the priest ; and the 
man made a dubious gesture which was translated 
as an affirmative by the light that spread into his 
stolid, unpleasant face. The priest went out with 
him, and he looked over the church solemnly, ex- 
amining some parts curiously, and with a bow with- 
drew when he was satisfied, with many signs of 
gratitude. 

‘‘I think we had better look to our valuables 
while he is in town,’’ said the priest to his servant ; 
“ he would not hesitate to murder us, I fear, for it 
is seldom one sees so ugly a countenance.” 

Coming down the road one fair morning in time 
to meet the train, Squire Pendleton’s ponderous 
glances rested sorrowfully on the marble shaft which 
bore Linda’s name, and then brightened a little at 
sight of a stranger examining the monument and the 
grave. Who could this be ? The Squire had heard 
of the new-comer and the mystery that surrounded 
him, and this he felt to be the man. He came down 
the road as the Squire passed, and gave that gentle- 
man an opportunity to put on his most awe-inspiring, 
Mackenzie’s rebellion look, and to roll forth a sonor- 
ous good-morning, to which no answer was given, 
nor did the great personage seem to inspire the 
stranger with any respect. 

‘‘ I said good-morning, sir,” he repeated with re- 
strained force ; and the stranger, beginning to com- 
prehend the drift of his remarks, bowed and smiled 
but said nothing. 

“ Foreigner, I suppose,” thought the Squire, Avith 


168 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


contempt. ‘‘ Lucky for you that you recognized 
my greeting, or it would have been all the worse 
for us two. I saw you surveying that pretty monu- 
ment on the hill,” continued he. ‘‘ Nice stone, 
beats Italian marble all to smash ; wears well for the 
climate. After next election we don’t import any 
more stone — oh ! no. Cut and carved by home talent. 
In a century or so we shall discount your sculptors 
fifty per cent. We’ve got the money and the brains, 
but we need time — time.” 

This was what the Squire called tall talk, and was 
bestowed only on foreigners who looked like sneer- 
ers at republicanism. But the stranger grunted 
something like “ pshaw ” in answer to the tall- talk. 

“ Sir,” said the Squire most villainously, “ do I 
understand you to say ‘ pshaw ’ to my remarks ? ” 

The gentleman bowed and smiled in so doubtful 
a way that Pendleton knew not how to take it, but 
concluded that his intentions were not insulting. At 
this interesting crisis the whistle of the approach- 
ing train brought Pendleton to his senses, and he fled 
for the depot with all speed, more eager to be at his 
post than to quarrel with a mere foreigner. Interest 
in the supposed Russian became so deep as to reach 
the hermit of Solitary Island. Squire Pendleton 
caught Scott on the dock one day, on the point of 
returning to his solitude. The usual group of loi- 
terers was close by, among them the stranger and 
the priest. 

“We have a curiosity here,” the Squire said to 
Scott, “ a real Russian that has done more in one 
week to upset this town than any other man could do 
in a year. I won’t say why, for I’m anxious to see if 


MYSTERY. 169 

he strikes you as he strikes most people. He’s a 
Kussian, didn’t you say, Pere Kougevin ? ” 

“ I supposed so,” said the Pere, “ from his looks 
and his language.” 

“ He’s pretty far out of his way, then,” the her- 
mit said, pulling down his cap in readiness to start. 

“ Wait and have a look at him,” said the Squire ; 
“ here he is.” 

The stranger appeared at this moment and stood, 
in profile to the group, unconscious that the hermit’s 
sharp eyes were upon him. Pendleton watched for 
the changes he expected to see in Scott’s face, but 
he was disappointed. 

“Hard-lookin’ sinner,” Scott said, as he swung 
the canoe around and paddled off. 


CHAPTER XY. 


A BARBECUE. 

All the letters which reached Florian from his 
native town during the summer nearly brought him 
to despair by their terrific descriptions of the mys- 
terious stranger. One day there arrived a note, 
posted in a place unknown, warning him to be on 
his guard against the man, for he meant him evil. 
It was plain that this individual was making himself 
familiar with Florian’s affairs. A man does not 
meddle without an object. Florian felt himself in 
possible danger. His first impulse was to put the 
matter in a detective’s hands, but after refiection he 
decided to take another course. Recalling that he 
had once seen Count Vladimir and the stranger in 
conversation, it occurred to him that he had opened 
himself to the Count with unnecessary frankness, 
and had told him enough about his past life to make 
the work of a spy trivial and successful. Vladimir 
and he had become very good friends, and the young 
nobleman had come to Xew York for the sole pur- 
pose of seeing political life under the guidance of 
his distinguished friend. It was not difficult to 
acquire an affection for the young fellow, and 
Florian deeply admired him. He was handsome, 
open-hearted, and engaging, and sinned with such 
thoughtlessness and relish that the grave Congress- 


A BARBECUE. 


171 


man often wished his own disposition had as little 
malice. In the presence of so attractive a scamp his 
own correct notions looked a little odd and silly, 
and he occasionally dropped a few of them in order 
to seem of a similar nature to this butterfly. How- 
ever, to be thoroughly deceived by this boy, to have 
all his life drawn from him that it might furnish 
matter for a spy’s recreation, was galling ! He did 
not allow it to disturb him, however, and when he 
visited the Count showed no feeling in mentioning 
the incident of the mysterious stranger. 

‘‘ My dear Count,” said he, I have no objection 
whatever to an inquiry into my past life, but if I am 
to furnish the material I have a right to know the 
object. What possible interest can you have in fer- 
reting out an open record ? My life from birth has 
not been remarkable and has no mysteries. I could 
have saved you some trouble if you had come to me 
in the beginning and stated the matter candidly.” 

The Count had just risen from sleep and looked 
pale and heavy. ‘‘ The work I had to do,” said he, 
“ required secrecy for two reasons : that it might be 
more deftly done, and might awaken no unreason- 
able hopes in the bosoms of American citizens whose 
birthright of freedom they would not exchange for 
an earldom.” 

“ That,” said Florian, “ is tolerated on the Fourth 
of July only.” 

“ Well, be it known, my friend, that I am commis- 
sioned by the Prince Louis of Cracow, father of 
that Prince Louis to whom you bear so remarkable 
a resemblance, to search for two or more of his rel- 
atives who came to this country just thirty years ago. 


172 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


It is whispered that the good prince, whose char- 
acter is not of the best, was under the necessity of 
doing some dirty work years ago that he might get 
into his present lordly position. He trumped up a 
charge against a young and noble relative ; said 
relative fled with two children to this country ; the 
prince entered upon his relative’s possessions, and 
the story ended. How, in his old age, Prince 
Louis fears for his wealth and standing. He be- 
gins to look for a Hemesis. To escape it he com- 
missions me to And the exiled prince or his children, 
and settle with them for a respectable sum to 
remain here and leave him in the enjoyment of 
his estates. He gave me some portraits to help 
the search. You so closely resembled one of them 
that 1 took you for a possible heir and began to in- 
quire into your antecedents. I shall now show you 
the portraits. First, do you hold me absolved from 
any crime against your fame and honor ? ” 

“By all means,” said Florian. “You have pro- 
ceeded admirably, but you are on a wrong scent, 
my friend, though I must say I regret it.” 

“ And why, if I may ask ? ” 

“ I would like to barter for the mess of pottage 
with Prince Louis ; money is more to me now than 
a princeship or a kingship.” 

“ Money, money, money ! It is the one cry that 
makes itself distinctly heard amid the jargon I have 
endured since I came to this country.” 

“The portraits, the portraits,” said Florian im- 
patiently. Vladimir brought them out from an 
inner room and placed them for his inspection. The 
faces were done in oil and well executed. The first 


A BARBECUE. 


173 


was a young man with reddish hair and smooth, del- 
icate face, of too fine a nature evidently to cope with 
the gross wickedness of the material villain, his rela- 
tive ; and the second a lovely woman of dark com- 
plexion, whose sweet face was indicative of great 
strength of character. 

“ I should fancy this woman would not take very 
well to flight,” he said after a pause. “ She would 
hold her castle to the end.” 

“ So she did, and died,” the Count responded. 

There are more ways than one of bringing an 
enemy to terms.” 

Two children of lovely appearance took up the 
third case, and Florian laughed at the idea of these 
being taken for himself and dead Linda. There 
was no resemblance, except that the eyes of the boy 
were of a brown color and the dark eyes of the girl 
sparkled with some of Linda’s mischievousness. But 
between himself and the exiled prince there cer- 
tainly was a very striking resemblance, and it ex- 
tended in a lighter degree to the portrait of the 
princess. The Count watched him closely as he ex- 
amined the pictures, to see what impression they 
made on him ; but Florian felt only disappointment. 

“ Has your Kussian friend reported to you yet ? ” 
he asked. “ For I suppose I have some right to 
know.” 

He has,” the Count answered frankly ; “ but he 
had nothing more to say than that you did not 
resemble your father or mother, and had not been 
baptized in Clayburgh.” 

‘‘ True, and I could not say where I really was 
baptized. But if you wish it we shall go together 


174 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


to Clayburgh and interview my parents and friends. 
It is a queer time of day to bring up questions of 
my paternity. We shall have to proceed cautiously 
for two reasons. My mother is nervous and my 
father hot-tempered, and inquiries among the towns- 
people, if too open, might act unpleasantly on my 
good name.” 

“ Oh ! I assure you the whole matter will be con- 
ducted most honorably and delicately. Allow me 
to thank you for your kind offer. I accept at once, 
and having done with you I shall proceed to perse- 
cute some other individual. But I have your pardon, 
Florian, for my want of candor ? I was so fearful 
of ” 

“ Not a word. I only wish you had succeeded in 
proving me a prince. It would have been a great 
help in my political life. Let me advise you. Get 
rid of your troublesome friend, and do not use him 
as a — an agent. His face is against him.” 

‘‘ He is a helpful fellow and a good fellow. But 
his face is against him, although I do not pay at- 
tention to it now. He disturbed you, it seems. He 
impressed you as ” 

“ An assassin,” said Florian, with an outburst of 
long restrained disgust and horror. 

“ Ah ! ” was all the Count said, and Florian could 
not tell why the simple exclamation set him wonder- 
ing as he went away. 

The train which one summer evening rushed into 
Clayburgh depot had Florian and the Count in one of 
its coaches. When the old familiar landmarks which 
he had known and loved as a boy began to appear, 
and when for the first time in eight years he saw 


A BARBECUE. 


175 


the strip of bay over which he had sailed so often, 
and sniffed the fresh water breeze, lily-scented, a 
scale seemed to fall from his eyes and a shell from 
his body. They left the bustle of the depot behind 
them, and, on reaching the top of the short hill, 
Florian made the Count look at the twilight beauty 
of the scene. Yladimir was not an admirer of 
scenery, but he looked and saw the waters covered 
with long, shifting lights from the west where a 
faint red glow shone, and the distant islands, visible 
only by the lights of dwellings there. A feeble 
moon threw silver flashes where the darkness was 
deepest. The line of docks was a forest of masts 
with their red and green and white lights showing 
like stars against the sky, and over the hubbub of 
the travelers at the depot could be heard occasion- 
ally the singers in the boats far out on the calm 
river. 

“ The stillness is quite oppressive,” said the Count 
with a shiver, as they turned into the garden of 
Wallace's home. 

“ It is a place to make you think,” said Florian, 
pointedly. 

“ Heaven save me from that,” laughed the Count. 
‘‘ It is the one glory of my life, and its joy, that of 
all men I can think least.” 

Florian entered the house without any ado, and 
left his valise in the square room which once belonged 
to him. To the servant who came to inspect the 
intruders he gave the message for his mother that 
Florian had come home. The Count was a trifle 
curious as he heard the hurried, timorous step in the 
hall, and he watched Mrs. Winifred closely as she 


176 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


appeared, dressed in plain black, with her white 
pointed cap lying across her smooth hair. She was 
in an exceedingly nervous state and hardly noticed 
Vladimir’s title, calling him Mr. Countbrenski a 
moment after the introduction. Preparing two 
rooms for the gentlemen, and seeing them retire to 
brush off the dust of the journey, gave her an op- 
portunity to settle down into her usual placidity, 
which she did in Linda’s room, where she sat crying 
and murmuring to the darkness, “ O Linda ! he has 
come back again.” The Count was so delighted at 
not finding in Florian the faintest resemblance to 
his mother that he grew eager to begin work at 
once. 

“ I have still less resemblance to my father,” said 
Florian. “ But it would not do to scare my mother 
by broaching so abruptly an important matter. 
The idea of trying to prove her son the property of 
another woman! Your object would certainly be 
frustrated by such haste. You would get no infor- 
mation at aU.” 

As Vladimir had asked the favor of being made 
acquainted with all the circumstances of Florian’s 
birth as soon as possible, the examination was held 
the next morning after breakfast. Mr. and Mrs. 
Buck were present, and, with Mr. Billy Wallace, 
were informed of the reasons of the visit. Billy was 
highly amused, and Sara felt the inspiriting charm 
of acting a part in a real romance. The Count saw 
in the manner of each member of the family that 
fate was against him. Father and mother might 
have shown a little agitation, and so have given a 
hope that their astonishment was but assumed. 


A BARBECUE. 


177 


Billy, however, chuckled constantly, and Mrs. Wini- 
fred was as placid as usual. 

Seemingly,” said she, with great composure, 
“ we lived behind Russell’s Camp for a number of 
years.” 

“We might have been there yet but for your 
tinkering.” Billy snapped, with a sudden and vivid 
recollection of damages sustained in leaving the 
camp. 

“ Thank Heaven we are out of it, the horrid place ! ” 
said Sara. “ I would never have met Mr. Buck there 
nor anybody; and where would you be now, my 
blessed little Florian 

“ The Protestant brat ! ” barked the grandfather, 
patting the child’s head with secret tenderness. 

“ It was there Florian came to us, and Sara, and 
Linda, and one younger child who died before we 
left the place. Seemingly, none of the children were 
baptized in a church.” 

“ How could they be ? ” Billy jerked out. “ There 
wasn’t a church in fifty miles.” 

“ How terrible ! ” said Sara for the Count’s benefit, 
“ to be deprived of the consolations of religion ” 

One withering look from Billy ended this speech, 
and, in fear of an outbreak, Mrs. Winifred burst in 
with, “ Pere Rivet baptized our children and took 
the records with him to Montreal, I suppose. I 
couldn’t say where. But seemingly, it troubled me. 
For if Florian had wished to be a priest we had no 
certificate of baptism.” 

“ Hot much trouble to you now,” sneered Billy; 
“ he’s a Congressman, the divil ! — the very opposite 
of a priest. And your grandson, with a certificate 
12 


178 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


handy, is to be a minister. Think of that, Count — 
think of that, sir.” 

“We moved here,” said Mrs. Winifred patiently, 
“ when Florian was about five years old, and here 
we have lived since.” 

“ Are you satisfied ? ” said Florian, and the Count 
nodded in some hesitation. 

“ I must apologize to you,” he said, addressing the 
family, “ for the trouble I have given you ” 

“ Oh ! I assure you,” Sara broke in, “ it has been 
a very great pleasure. Just like a novel, indeed.” 

“ I must thank you for the kind manner in which 
you have humored me. I am satisfied,” laughing 
gayly, “ that your son is your own. I shall never 
again trouble you in this way.” 

“ But in other ways,” said Sara, “ we shall be so 
happy to serve you. Some troubles are real pleas- 
ures.” 

“ Not such troubles as you, you divil ! ” said Billy. 

“ But such troubles as this,” she answered good- 
naturedly, holding young Florian close to the wrin- 
kled face ; and the grandfather was forced to smile 
and chuckle in spite of himself. The morning con- 
ference was broken up by the stentorian voice of the 
Squire at the front gate welcoming Florian to the 
arms of his native town. At his back were a half- 
dozen of the fathers of the village, anxious and happy 
to greet the lion of the fold, the standard-bearer of 
Juda, their David in the ranks of the Philistines. 
Yladimir shuddered at the grasp which each of the 
ancients in turn gave to Florian and kept two books 
in his hands during the ceremony of introduc- 
tion. 


A BARBECUE. 


179 


“ Glad to see y ou, Count,” said the Squire. You 
are a rare bird in this part of the country, but I met 
a dozen of you in New York when I was there. 
Boys, this is a real, live Eussian count, imported from 
Moscow, and Florian’s friend. He’s to be included 
in the reception we’re to give Flory at noon. You’ll 
make a speech, of course.” 

The very decided refusal of the Count was drowned 
in the clamor which all present raised in behalf of 
the speech. 

“ The ladies of the whole town will be present,” 
said Sara, “ and it would be too bad to deny them 
the pleasure of hearing a count talk.” 

“ Is not this a republican country ? ” said Vladi- 
mir. 

“Oh ! but you are a rarity,” Florian replied, “and 
must be heard as well as seen. You are on exhibi- 
tion like myself.” 

“ It is the one thing of this country — self-exhibi- 
tion,” the Count muttered in a disgusted undertone, 
but aloud he said blandly, “ If the ladies wish it I 
am their slave.” 

“ How delightful ! ” thought Sara. “ He talks just 
like an earl.” 

Mrs. Winifred had been sitting quietly observant 
of the proceedings, and now tumbled into her son’s 
lap in a dead faint ; whereupon the elders gathered 
about her in a close-pressed gang, and the Count, 
having been caught between them with his protect- 
ing books in his hands, got such a democratic squeez- 
ing as he had never before experienced. 

“ This never happened before in her whole life,” 
said Billy, with tremulous lips, as she began to show 


180 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


signs of returning life. Florian whispered to the 
Count, who followed him into the garden. 

“ It’s a good time to get away,” he said. “ That 
deputation would keep us till noon, when I wish you 
to see the islands and a hermit friend of mine.” 

They went down the street to the dock below the 
depot, and in a few minutes Florian had hired a boat 
and hoisted the sail to a favorable breeze. A few 
loungers stood on the shore and watched curiously 
the ordinary human motions of so queer creatures as 
a politician and a count. They soon left the river 
and entered the curved channel which passed into 
the Bay of Tears. And like a transformation scene 
the narrow passage, in which the waters mingled 
their murmurs with the sighing of the trees, widened 
on the instant into a glorious bay where the waters 
slept in the sunlight and a silver- white mist lingered 
in the air. Even the indifferent Count was touched. 

“ Your hermit has a royal dwelling,” said he, 
“ when such a vestibule leads to it.” 

“We shall see,” Florian replied. A short run up 
the Canadian side of the river brought them to the 
landing-place. “ This is the royal residence,” said he 
to the Count as they anchored. To the disappoint- 
ment of both, the hermit was not at home, but every- 
thing was in its old place, even the copy of IzaaJc 
Walton ; and Florian saw with delight the absence 
of change, as if he had been gone but a day ! 

“ This is the nearest approach to eternity that 
man can make. There has been no change here in 
twenty years, and I suppose the furniture of his 
brain and his heart are in the same placid condition. 
Such a man endures death with philosophy.” 


A BARBECUE. 


181 


“ Nonsense ! ’’ the Count said, “ on the contrary, 
he is always unprepared for so violent a change. 
With me, a worldling, death is one of those incidents 
which make life charming. There is a risk in hold- 
ing life’s jewel. Now, this hermit, as I suppose, is 
wildl}^ virtuous, an ascetic ” 

“ No, no. He is sedate, stoical, serious, but not a 
devotee.” 

“ Then he has taken to this life from a love of it, 
and not because a companion was struck dead by 
lightning at his side or because he had already ex- 
hausted the world ? ” 

“ I would like to hear himself answer those insinua- 
tions. It would take all your cynicism and wit to 
match him. Above all men he despises an indif- 
ferentist.” 

“ What do you call this ? ” said the Count, holding 
up a delicate handkerchief between his thumb and 
finger. “ Was it not one such that damned poor 
Desdemona ? ” 

“ As I live,” replied Florian, examining the 
article, “ my hermit has strange visitors occasion- 
ally.” 

There were no marks by which its owner might 
be known, but the keen eyes of the Count detected 
the letter “ W ” which had been worked with colored 
silk at one corner, and the color had faded. 

“ An initial belonging to you,” said he, pointing 
it out. Florian looked at it thoughtfully for a few 
moments. 

“ It is just possible,” he said, pressing the hand- 
kerchief to his lips, “ that this is a relic of Linda — 
poor Linda ! If so it would be a pity to deprive him 


182 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


of what must be clear to him. He thought so much 
of the child.” 

He put it between the leaves of Izaah Walton 
reverently. 

“ How for the reception,” he said, as they set sail 
for the town. 

A crowd had gathered on one of the wharves, and 
a band was playing under the shadow of innumer- 
able flags and banners, while cheering, shouts, and 
yells were faintly borne over the water. A carriage 
was in waiting and they took the last place in a 
procession of which the band had the first, and did 
it justice. The ride was short. They were trans- 
ferred to a hotel balcony, which gave them the 
opportunity of seeing their admirers in an agony of 
exhaustion, sitting on the curbstones of the street, 
on barrels and boxes and staircases, and leaning out 
of windows in heart-breaking attitudes, while the 
sun beat down on them, and the band blared about 
and through them, dividing with the Count the 
attention of the multitude. Everyone was red, and 
every one had a handkerchief with which he mopped 
and reddened the more his perspiring face. Only 
one cool, shaded spot stood in view, on the opposite 
side of the street, where under a protecting canopy 
sat the well dressed leading ladies of the town, 
headed by Eeverend Mrs. Buck, and leveling opera- 
glasses at the titled victim of one part of this ova- 
tion. 

When the brass band had wound up its disturbance 
with one prolonged crash of powerful melody the 
Squire stepped forward amid cheers. With his back 
to Florian and his face to the crowd he welcomed to 


A BARBECUE. 


183 


his native town this admirable specimen of the po- 
litical youth of the time, congratulated him on the 
eminence he had won in the service of his country, 
prophesied his future glories and the glories he would 
reflect on Clay burgh, and pledged to him the eter- 
nal, the undying, the immortal, solid, uninterrupted 
fldelity and esteem of the citizens of the town. 
Amid a second round of cheering Florian took his 
place and endeavored to out-adjective the Squire 
in one of his most telling spread-eagle speeches. 
There was some mixed speaking afterwards on the 
part of noteworthy elders anxious to put their 
opinions on record, to whom the crowd paid no 
attention, but, with many wishes that the dinner 
might not interfere with their talking powers, and 
with considerable laughing scattered homewards, 
while the tired and heated Count was led into the 
dining-room and placed at his seat amid a hubbub 
too horrible for description. 

These hot, red-faced, perspiring Yankees were still 
full of spirits and appetite. It was dreadful to see 
what hungry looks they cast at the dishes, as if the 
noise and confusion of the procession and the speech- 
making were incentives to appetite. Knives, tongues, 
and dishes clattered in unison ; waiters ran hither 
and thither, in and out, tripped and sprawled, as if 
their reputations depended on the absurdities they 
were performing ; the elders upset gravy-bowls and 
vinegar cruets with social equanimity ; everything 
was put on the table at once ; everybody shouted 
his thoughts to his neighbor ; steam rose from every 
dish like a cloud, and around each man’s plate was 
grouped an army of smaller dishes, to which his 


184 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


neighbor helped himself with genial freedom ! In 
the center sat the Honorable Florian, the cause of 
all the trouble, calm, cool, and elegant, full of good 
spirits, his pleasant voice rising above the din and 
roaring encouragement at his friend, until the band 
broke loose and sat upon all rivalry with a complete- 
ness that made the Count feel as if he were eating 
that awe-inspiring music. 

“ Down south they call this a barbecue,” the Squire 
shouted at him across the table, where he struggled 
with a roast standing ; “ this is, of course, a leetle 
milder.” 

“ Oh ! considerably milder,” said an ancient, “ con- 
siderably, Squire.” 

‘‘ Ya’as,” drawled another. “ I suppose it’s only a 
shadow of a real barbecue. The Southerners air apt 
to dew things with a rush, bein’ a leetle fiery.” 

“ That’s where you’d see fun,” the Squire continued. 
“ But still this is a pretty good specimen of a high 
old time. Of course with ” 

A burst from the band crushed the words back 
into his mouth. The Squire continued to roar, and 
the Count nodded politely while pretending not to 
see his neighbor carry off his green peas. The gentle- 
man had said : “ Seein’ as you don’t take to them ’ear, 
ni try ’em.” 

After a time Yladimir passed into a dreamy state 
in which he seemed to be the center of a revolving 
machine. He rather liked it on the whole, and as the 
motion grew slower and slower he began to realize 
that the table was cleared, the Yankees satisfied, and 
Florian was speaking in the midst of a great and 
pleasant silence. Some comic singing followed, there 


A BARBECUE. 


185 


was a general handshaking, of which he had a share, 
and finally he was conducted to the quiet of the 
Wallace home. 

“ How did you like it ? ” said Florian, when they 
had changed their clothing and sat looking at the 
sun shedding his latest glories on the river. 

“ I feel as if I had been through a campaign. If 
my greatest enemy had done this his revenge could 
not have been more complete. We have been here 
but twenty-four hours. I feel as if it had been as 
many years.” 

“ We go to-morrow,” said Florian with a sigh. “ I 
would like it to last forever.” 

“ Since it can’t,” answered the Count solemnly, 
“ amen.” 


CHAPTEK XVL 
rossiter’s luck. 


A COOLNESS arose between Florian and the poet 
after Path’s departure. Without any clear reason 
for it, the two men avoided each other, and drifted 
utterly apart by degrees. Path’s face began to 
haunt the poet once more ; some words from gos- 
sipers on her conversion had waked from a tran- 
sient sleep a fancy he had thought dead and buried. 
He did not care to indulge the fancy, partly from 
pride, mostly because the world was not treating 
him well at that moment. Work was scarce, and 
money scarcer. Fatigue and worry had told upon 
him, and just then occurred something which put 
a finishing touch to his misery. Peturning from a 
tiresome interview with a manager he stopped for a 
moment to look at a shop window, and became con- 
scious of some one staring at him rudely from within. 
He looked up. The same disagreeable face which 
had haunted Washington and Clay burgh so unpleas- 
antly had fastened its intent, evil gaze on him. Al- 
though he went on his way cheerfully afterwards, 
he did not know what a power this face had of repro- 
ducing itself in the memory, until it had remorselessly 
haunted him twenty-four hours. It came up at every 
turn of thought, luminous and frightful. 

“ I wonder what it means ? ” he said to Peter one 
186 


rossiter’s luck. 


187 


evening. Peter had been speaking with an energy 
born of liquor, and had brought down his fist several 
times on the table after asserting that something was 
diabolical. “ What does it mean ? ” cried he. “ It 
means that you’re no man, or ye wouldn’t sit there 
and see him walk off with Frances before yer two 
eyes, you omadhaun ! ” 

“ Who ? ” said the poet in wide-eyed wonder. 

“ That gizzard, of course,” snarled Peter. 

“ On that track again, hey ? Pshaw, Peter ! I 
don’t care for Frances, nor she for me. We couldn t 
live on the same fioor without quarreling.” 

“ Before marriage, perhaps,” said Peter, “ but 

after ” A knock at the door interrupted him, 

and he opened it to admit the servant bearing a card 
for Mr. Possiter. 

‘‘ Bead it,” said Paul. 

Peter took up the card and read ; 

“‘Mr. Wallace’s compliments to Mr. Kossiter. 
Would he favor Mr. Wallace by coming to his room 
to meet the Count Yladimir Behrenski, a noted litter- 
ateur, anxious to make your acquaintance ? ’ What 
new trick is this ? ” 

“ I’m going down,” said Paul, and he went. 

The resemblance between Paul and Florian has 
been spoken of, and it was a notable circumstance 
with their acquaintances. At the first sight the 
more delicate physique and lighter complexion of the 
poet did not make the likeness striking or impressive, 
but on acquaintance it increased forcibly, and the in- 
variable question was, are they brothers or relatives ? 
When Florian saw for the first time the features of his 
supposed father, the Prince, in the portraits, he was 


188 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Struck by the remarkable likeness to Paul Rossiter. 
Of this fact he said nothing to the Count until that 
gentleman had been satisfied as to his identity with 
the son of Mr. and Mrs. Wallace. When they had 
returned to [N'ew York, and he was one day at the 
Count’s residence, he asked to see the portrait of the 
Russian prince once more. “ There is a young gentle- 
man at Madame Lynch’s ” he said, “ who looks more 
like this picture than I do. He has the prince’s eyes 
and hair, which I have not.” 

“ But you have the soul of the prince in your face,” 
said the Count shrewdly, “ which he has not.” 

“ Then you know of his existence ? ” said Florian. 

“ I heard of it yesterday,” the Count replied, in- 
differently, “ and I was about to ask for an intro- 
duction. I have a presentiment that the son of the 
exiled prince will be found in either of you.” 

“ What ! have you not gotten over your infatuation 
in my regard? Were you not satisfied with the 
Wallace credentials ? ” 

“ Highly satisfied. But I spoke only of presenti- 
ment.” 

“ When I first saw this portrait,” said Florian, “ I 
said to myself, this is the poet — for he is a poet, you 
know. But I thought it best to settle my own 
claims first, as I had a secret hope that I might be 
the princely child you sought.” 

“ Ah,” said the Count, ‘‘ you are eager for assassi- 
nation.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” said Florian, “ wouldn’t the Prince of 
Cracow prefer buying me off than running the risk 
of having a crime laid to his charge ? ” 

“Yes,” said Yladimir; “but he has an idea you 


rossiter’s luck. 189 

could not be bought. You Americans have such a 
greed for titles.” 

“ For our own,” said Florian, “ not for yours. I 
would sell my princeship for a reasonable sum, and 
buy a governorship here, which would be more to 
me than anything in a European kingdom. Will 
you call on the poet ? And if so, what will be your 
plan of action ? ” 

“ I shall call on him and frankly state the reason 
of the visit.” 

And it so happened that Paul received Florian’s 
card the same evening and was introduced to the 
Count. After some desultory conversation Yladimir 
broached the subject of his visit and showed the 
portraits to Paul. 

“ It is a very good picture of me,” said the poet 
coolly, “ but it can be no more than an accidental 
resemblance.” 

“Would you have any objections,” the Count 
politely asked, “ to give me means of satisfying my 
employer by documentary evidence that you are not 
the man he seeks ? ” 

“ I have been through the mill,” said Florian, 
“ and I can do the Count the justice of saying that 
his conduct has been that of a gentleman. For him 
your word is sufficient, but the Prince Louis must 
have something more.” 

“ I am afraid,” said Paul gravely, “ that the 
Prince as well as the Count must be content with my 
simple word. There is nothing in my history that 
justifies the slightest shope that I can be the man. 
The past I prefer to leave undisturbed. I am sorry 
that I cannot oblige you.” 


190 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


There was some agitation in his manner, but his 
determination was evident and the Count could only 
express his regrets. Florian did not dare to hint in 
Vladimir’s presence that a score of detectives would 
probably be soon at work to lay bare the story of 
his life, and the conversation drifted into other 
channels until the poet took his leave. While his 
footsteps echoed in the hall there was a short 
silence. 

“ Kossiter’s conduct,” said Florian, strengthens 
your case considerably.” 

“ I don’t know,” the Count answered dubiously. 
“ It may one way and it may not another. He is 
sincere, and yet apprehends trouble from discovering 
himself. It does not mdXiev— for the jpresentP 

He went out reciting his favorite maxim of human 
philosophy with a smiling face and gay air. At 
home, the gentleman whose peculiar features had al- 
ready caused so much disturbance in many places was 
waiting for him, and began to speak in a low, sullen, 
dull way before greeting him. The conversation 
was in Eussian. 

“ Have you found out something new about this 
young man ? ” 

“ FTothing,” said Vladimir ; “ he is what he is and 
no more.” 

‘‘ He is the son of Prince Paul,” said the other 
angrily; “no one can deceive me. His name is 
Paul, is it not ? ” 

“ Yes, but he is not the man I think. You were 
so certain about Wallace ; why have you changed ? ” 

“ Give me his native place. We are delaying too 
much. Give me his native place, and I will do it 


rossiter’s luck. 


191 


all in a day. Give me whatever you have found out 
about him and hasten.” 

The Count silently and contemptuously lit a cigar 
and sat down comfortably under a most malignant 
glare from the man’s eyes. 

“ My dear ^Nicholas,” he said blandly, “ you are 
too quick and too impertinent. I found out nothing 
concerning this princeling, save that he had nothing 
to tell. You will have to begin from the begin- 
ning” — Mcholas made a gesture of despair — ‘‘but 
you are sharp, you are unwearied, you are devoted, 
and you will find it all soon enough.” 

“ What do you think of him ? ” said Nicholas. 

“ I think nothing, it lies between these two.” 

“ Then this Paul is the man,” he interrupted. “ I 
knew the father — I knew them all, father and son. 
There is a quick way to settle this matter.” And 
he made a murderous gesture with his arm. 

“ Too fast,” the Count replied, shaking his head ; 
“ that trick is too new in this country to be played 
safely, although if any one could do it cunningly you 
are that one. No, Nicholas, you must be more care- 
ful of your master’s character. He relies on you 
chiefly. There must be no blood cast on his honor- 
able name.” 

“ There are ways of killing without shedding 
blood,” said Nicholas — “ without steel or rope — if I 
might try.” 

The Count pretended not to hear him and went 
off into an inner room, while with an evil smile the 
man departed to execute his mission. It might have 
been a result of this conversation that matters began 
to get worse with Eossiter. He seemed to have dis- 


192 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


covered all at once a knack of offending his few 
patrons, and in spite of Peter’s efforts and his own, 
it became more and more difficult to earn the pittance 
that supported him. His strength and spirit were 
leaving him together. Hack-work was a treadmill 
to his soul, and when at last employers began to 
sprinkle their stingy crusts with ashes as they handed 
them out, he stayed at home, and dreamed for hours 
of the two faces that haunted him, the calm face of 
Euth, and the cruel visage of the spy. 

Peter’s anxieties and mutterings drew madame’s 
attention to the matter. She took a kindly interest 
in the lonely poet, was happy to be of service to 
him, and called on him to assure him of her sym- 
pathy and to promise her influence in getting him 
a position ; and Frances came up often with Peter 
and was very witty and quarrelsome to raise his 
spirits. From these kindly visits Peter evolved a 
bright syllogism whose conclusion struck him with 
the force of a tornado. Madame and her daughter 
were about to take advantage of Paul’s weakness 
and arrange the long-deferred marriage of the young 
people. Paul’s noble sacrifices in behalf of the poor, 
his patient endurance of misfortune, his piety and 
beauty, had at length become irresistible in the 
girl’s heart. How was the time to strike a telling 
blow in favor of his pet project. He waited a few 
days until madame had made herself conspicuous in 
Paul’s interest, until Frances had ministered his sad 
soul into cheerfulness, and then Peter’s diplomacy 
began to move about like the bull in the china shop. 
He hurried one day into madame’s presence, and 
burst out with — 


eossiter’s luck. 


193 


“ He’s dying, that b’y is dying an’ ye have only 
yourselves to blame for it.” 

“ Do you mean Mr. Rossi ter ? ” said madame ter- 
ribly frightened. 

“ Don’t get excited, ma’am. There’s no immedi- 
ate harm done, but between ye, ye are killin’ the 
b’y.” 

“ Oh ! ” said madame, ‘‘ one of your freaks, I 
suppose.” 

“A woman of your years an’ experience,” said 
Peter, looking at her with uneasy glances, “ ought 
to be better able to get at the bottom o’ things than 
ye are, instead o’ leaving such work to be done by 
your boarders. There’s no use breaking your neck 
running over the city to find out the cause o’ Paul’s 
illness, when it’s here in the house, as large as a 
young lady can be.” 

Madame sat provokingly quiet awaiting the point 
of his eloquence. 

“Can’t you see that he’s in love with your 
daughter ? ” said Peter angrily. 

“ No,” said madame composedly ; “ is he ? ” 

“ Nothing less than marrying her will cure him ; 
an’ it’s a shame to have her waiting for the good 
pleasure of the man without a heart, with a real live 
poet wasting away in a garret because of her. He’d 
write beautiful verses for her all her life, while from 
the Congressman divil a thing else she’ll hear but 
dry speeches an’ the like.” 

“ Did Mr. Rossiter tell you he was in love with 
Frances, and commission you to plead his cause for 
him?” 

“ Ay, that he did, ma’am j for no one ever stood 

13 


194 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


his friend as well as Peter. When he was feeling 
bad over his own weakness who else would he choose ? 
‘ Never mind,’ says I, ‘ I’ll let out the cause of it ; ’ 
an’ he thanked me with two tears in his eyes. If 
there’s a heart in ye at all ye’ll see that he’s rescued 
from the grave by giving him Frances. She’s crazy 
after him, the poor girl.” 

“ Have you spoken of this to others ? ” said Ma- 
dame icily. 

“ No; I think not. I might have, but ” 

“ If you ever do,” said Madame, “ it will be your 
ruin. My interest in Mr. Eossiter ceases from this 
instant, and he must depart at once from this house. 
Such an insult to my daughter — such a poor, un- 
gen tlemanly return for all my kindness. It is shame- 
ful.” 

Peter walked out stupid from humiliation. 

The effects of his interference were direful. Ma- 
dame and her daughter ceased to visit the attic, and 
Paul received the intimation that as soon as con- 
venient the attic would be let to a more desirable 
lodger. There was, of course, an instant demand 
for explanation. Paul, looking wofully pale and 
wretched, came down from his room and begged to 
know if this was of a piece with his other misfor- 
tunes. Madame explained in a distant way, which 
set Paul laughing as he pictured to himself the man- 
ner in which Peter must have executed his self- 
imposed task. He declared earnestly that he had 
never spoken of such a thing even in jest, and had 
no deeper regard for Frances than he had for her- 
self. It pained him to see that while Madame ac- 
cepted his declaration, she did not withdraw her 


rossiter’s luck. 


195 


note nor drop the unusual coldness of her manner, 
while his request to apologize to Frances was politely 
ignored. 

He returned to his room, weighed down with sad- 
ness, but outwardly cheerful. One must carry his 
cross with a good heart. His possessions were few 
and his wardrobe limited. He packed up a few 
articles that evening, locked the door, and gave the 
key to the servent, with instructions to have the 
furniture sold and the money given to Madame. He 
had tried vainly to see Peter. On a chilly, but clear 
night in early spring, he went out into the streets of 
New York almost a beggar, as he had once entered 
the city, having no place to lay his head, entirely 
bereft of friends save among the poor, sad and down- 
cast, but still full of the hope which had always 
been his chief capital. He had enough money to 
assist him in carrying out his designs. He needed 
change of scene and rest, and he had decided that a 
few months spent in the country districts, traveling, 
as only the impecunious know how to travel, out in 
the open air, among the mountains and lakes of the 
north, would once more set him in trim for the bat- 
tle of life. He was not altogether cast down, and 
had no suicidal tendencies, nor even a very natural 
longing for death. There were many pleasant in- 
cidents ahead of him which, with the bracing air of 
night, gave his blood a new energy of flow. 

He took a northward train, and near morning 
was landed at a pretty village half-way up the Hud- 
son. It was not a pleasant hour for entering a 
town, the air being chilly and the sun still in bed 
along with the villagers. Ofiicials Avere sleepy and 


196 


SOLITAHY ISLAND. 


impolite, and the silent, echoing streets, the ghostly 
spires and eminences, had a heavy influence on a 
heavy heart. The bells of a distant convent were 
ringing, and, smiting softly on his ear, brought a 
flush to his pale cheeks. He turned his steps towards 
the sound. His thoughts went back to that happier 
time when Kuth’s face had first stirred in him as- 
pirations and fancies. It had been many months 
since she stood in the world. She was hiding in the 
convent whose bells brought the blood to his cheek 
and quickened his unconscious step. What she was 
doing there he had never heard ; why he was visit- 
ing the place he had not asked himself, but a vague 
longing to see her again and to learn something 
deflnite of one who had unconsciously fllled a large 
space in his life urged him on. He knew that 
she thought of him with gratitude. He had been 
the first to open her eyes to her real position, and 
she felt that whatever of happiness her new life 
had given her was owing in fair measure to him. 
After Mass he called upon the Superior of the con- 
vent. 

“ Some years ago,” he said, “ a lady friend of 
mine came here to reside. She was a Miss Pendle- 
ton, a Protestant, who had leanings towards the 
faith. I have heard so little of her since that time 
that I am anxious to know what has become of 
her.” 

Miss Pendleton,” said the mother superior, smil- 
ing, ‘‘ is now Sister St. Clare, a novice in our order. 
She has been a Catholic almost since her arrival, but 
until a year ago did not consider that she had a vo- 
cation for the religious life.” 


rossiter’s luck. 


197 


“ She is well, I trust and happy ? ” 

“ Yery well indeed, and apparently content and 
cheerful.” 

He was longing to ask permission to see her, but 
knew that it was against the rules. 

‘‘Will you oblige me” — handing her his card — 
“ by giving Sister St. Clare my kind regards and best 
wishes, and asking her prayers for one who has great 
need of them. I am glad to know that she has found 
rest. Some day when she is professed I may be 
able to call on her.” 

He went away sadder but pleased at the good 
fortune which had come to a noble soul. All day 
long he haunted the grounds, sketching the build- 
ings and looking with moist eyes towards that part 
where the novices spent their leisure hours. In- 
sensibly his thoughts strayed away into dreamland, 
and he began to draw on a bit of bristol-board the 
outlines of Kuth’s face as he had seen it last, very 
troubled, yet shining with the light of a new-born 
grace. He looked at his finish ed work, grief-stricken , 
yet patient. Was he never to whisper into her ears 
the secret of his heart ? Hever ! For another more 
noble than he had claimed her, and he could but write 
around the chill outline his name and hers inter- 
twined, with the words, “ I love you,” twisted about 
in every fashion. The sun rose hot and red in the 
noonday sky, and hunger drove him to the village. 
He left the bit of bristol-board in the convent grounds, 
nor did he miss it until the next morning when he 
was many a mile from the place. He would have 
returned for it on the instant but that he remembered 
the rain-storm of the preceding nigbt. Tlie skotcli 


198 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


lying six hours in the rain would now be a mass of 
unsightly pulp ! 

He had no fixed plans for his journey. He went 
wherever fancy and circumstance led him, and wan- 
dered for months by the Hudson, on the shores of 
Lake George and Lake Champlain, along the St. 
Lawrence, and among the Thousand Islands — places 
little frequented in those days. His arrival at Clay- 
burgh was pure accident, but once there he awoke 
to sudden interest in Kuth’s home. He had not 
improved much in his open-air trampings. Whether 
his heavy heart retarded recovery, neutralizing the 
effect of change of scene, fresh air, and exercise, or 
his carelessness led him into fresh disorders, the day 
at least which found him looking on Clay burgh from 
the top of the island described in the opening chap- 
ter was a day of special physical misery to him. 
And this was the village where she had lived and 
grown to a sweet womanhood! How pretty its 
spires looked in the morning sun, and how fresh the 
wind which blew from it to him ! ^He sat under the 
shade of the stunted tree with his eye fixed gloomily 
on the water, and wondered when his present self 
was to end. He was depressed enough to wish that 
it would find its conclusion here. She was lost to 
him forever, and he would rest among the scenes 
which she had loved. 

“ Sick,” said a voice beside him. Scott was stand- 
ing there. 

“ Ho,” he answered, “ not sick in body.” 

The sigh which followed the words told the poet’s 
story very plainly, and Scott studied his pale face 
with attentive interest. He somewhat resembled 


rossiter’s luck. 


199 


Florian. Usually the hermit left strangers to them- 
selves as speedily as possible. N’ow he said : 

“ When sorrows begin to knock a man down it’s 
part of his nature that he should knock down in turn. 
If he doesn’t he must expect a kickin’ as well. I 
dunno but he deserves it.” 

Paul looked up in surprise, and for the first time 
surveyed his companion. He saw nothing, however, 
to astonish him, but the words of the hermit rang in 
his ears pleasantly. 

“ Easy to talk,” said he, “ but cleverly said. It is 
like meeting a friend to hear such words; and I 
have no friends.” 

“ Hone ? ” said the other distrustfully. “ A man 
must have done some pretty mean things to get like 
that.” 

“ Perhaps the meanest thing I did was to run 
away from misfortune instead of facing it and letting 
it do its worst. The friends I had God took from 
me for a good purpose which I have been slow to 
acknowledge. Hever mind. I will go back to Hew 
York soon. I thought I vfas dying ; that my tide 
of fortune, not taken at the full, was ebbing. It was 
a mistake. I shall return, no doubt.” 

“ A man sometimes runs too far,” was dryly said, 
‘‘ to make gittin’ back safe or necessary. Find a 
good battleground here, and wait for your enemies.” 

Paul looked at him a long time in silent thought, 
and then at the scene around him. 

“ What do you do for a living ? ” 

“ Fish, hunt, plough for myself an’ no other. I 
live alone among these islands, an’ when I’ve done 
prayin’ for myself I give some time to thinkin’ of 


200 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


my brothers in the world. I never tolerate com- 
pany. It doesn’t pay ; it brings misfortun’. ” 

He had seen a purpose in Paul’s eye and question, 
and thus attempted to destroy it, starting down the 
steps to his canoe ; but the poet caught him and held 
him, looking into his face with a fixed, earnest look, 
not without a suspicion of wildness. 

“ I must go with you,” he said, “ for I know you 
now. Florian often spoke of you. In old times 
those sick of the world came to men like you for 
help and consolation. I am sick of it. You must 
take me with you. You will bear half my troubles.” 

“ You’re a little crazy,” said Scott. “ I have noth- 
ing to do with your kind.” And he laughed at the 
man’s feeble grip. 

Hothing ? ” repeated Paul, following him to the 
canoe. “You have nothing to do with such as I ? 
Why it was just such a sorrow as mine, perhaps, 
which drove you to this solitude. Let me be your 
disciple. We are alike in many ways.” 

The hermit looked at him again sharply. 

“ Are you in earnest ? ” he said coldly. “ If so, 
come. Put in practice the first rule of this place — 
silence.” 

Wordless the poet entered the canoe, and the prow 
was turned toward Eel Bay. 


CHAPTEK XVII. 


A PROPOSAL. 

Flobian had almost made up his mind to marry, 
after the failure to connect him with the Eussian 
nobility, and was saved from precipitate action only 
by the fact that Frances and her mother were in the 
mountains for the summer. The great house was 
lonely at this moment. He missed Frances exceed- 
ingly, for m the private reception room she usually 
sat at twilight hour, and her music was the first 
thing he heard on entering the house, her form in 
its light drapery gleaming through the darkness the 
first he saw, and he found it pleasant and restful to 
sit listening to the sweet melodies. 

Unconsciously, almost, Frances had grown into 
his life since Euth was lost to him. It would be 
very sweet always to have her waiting in the twilight 
for him in his own house ; and she was so very good 
and beautiful, not very brilliant like Barbara, not so 
full of character as the strong-souled Euth, but per- 
fect in her way, and made to reign over a household. 
He was not at all certain of winning her, but if the 
attempt were to be made he was determined to do 
his best, as he always did. It occurred to him to 
consult Mrs. Merrion. Women know one another 
thoroughly, and she was sharp-minded, generous, 


202 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


and ever-willing in giving advice, and would be 
happy to help one of her warmest admirers. She 
was residing for the summer in a villa on the Jersey 
coast, Avhither the Count and himself often journeyed 
to dine, as it was but an hour’s ride from New York. 
It had surprised the gentlemen that she should choose 
so quiet a spot instead of following the fashionable 
crowd. 

“ Well, I am in a mood,” said Mrs. Merrion, “ a 
serious mood, and I am going there to read, to think, 
to listen to the sea roaring, and to enjoy the moon- 
light nights alone.” 

“ She must have some exquisite plot hatching,” 
was the Count’s comment ; but Florian, who thought 
he understood her better, saw no reason to doubt 
the plain meaning of her words. There was time 
to catch the noon boat and return late the same even- 
ing, and he hurried away at once to the seaside town, 
only to find Mrs. Merrion unexpectedly absent. She 
had promised never to be away from home when 
the boats arrived. Neither did the servant know 
whither she had gone, and he was left to walk the 
verandas impatiently and to stray through the rooms, 
one of which perhaps it was intended he should not 
have seen. It was a mere closet, holding a desk, 
a chair, and a prie-dieu, some pictures, books, and 
statues. But the character of its furniture almost 
took the breath away from the honorable gentleman. 
On the desk lay a few manuscripts, and an open 
book beside them suggested copying. The book was 
the Imitation of Christ. At the back of the desk 
hung a crucifix ; the pictures were of pious character, 
and one was a copy of a mirculous picture ; the books 


A PROPOSAL. 


203 


were either controversial or works of pure Catholic 
devotion. As he recollected that these things were 
not intended for his eyes, he withdrew hastily to the 
outer air. 

What new freak was Mrs. Merrion meditating? 
Was this the quiet and seclusion she had spoken of ? 
Where had she gotten these ideas ? He had never 
spoken to her on religious matters, and he was un- 
aware of any Catholic acquaintances who would lead 
her to such thoughts and doings. Evidently this 
freak would spoil Mrs. Merrion without doing her any 
good, and he thought, with a jealous pang, how much 
this incident resembled Kuth’s conversion. He had 
been her nearest friend, yet was unable to make any 
religious impression upon her, when a strange poet 
comes along, speaks a few words, and forthwith she 
is all tears. Who could the stranger be in this in- 
stance? While he was discussing the point Mrs. 
Merrion returned, her cheeks very red after a lively 
walk, and with many meek apologies for her delay. 
He looked at her curiously and remarked the change 
which had almost imperceptibly come upon her. 
Formerly she would have thrown the blame of her 
own delay on his shoulders, and maintained her posi- 
tion with saucy defiance of truth, reason, and polite- 
ness. How she was a meek, quiet culprit, waiting a 
well-deserved sentence. It was really painful, and 
he told her so immediately. 

“ I suppose it’s the sea air,” she said, with a touch 
of the old archness ; “ it makes everything damp 
and clinging. You can hardly stand up when the 
wind is full of salt.” 

“ But the wind is blowing off the land now,” said 


204 


SOLITARY ISLAKI). 


he. “ It pains me to see yon so changed. I hope 
you are not ill.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” she cried ; “ you have been 
coming and coming all the summer, and never 
noticed it before. Why should you notice it now ? 
I am happy enough, and one should be different at 
the seaside from what one is in the city. Wait until 
I resume my position in society — if I ever do ” 

“ Oh ! ‘ if I ever do ! ’ ” repeated Florian, in mock 
amazement. 

“ Well, well. Kuth Pendleton went into a convent 
and you were not surprised. Why should not I do 
the same ? ” 

“ Oh I by all means. You are Just suited for it.” 

“ Have you any news from the city ? ” she said. 

“ Yes ; I am going to be married.” 

She turned upon him a pair of wide, startled eyes, 
and unseen by him a faint pallor crept about her 
trembling lips. 

“Well,” said he, delighted, “other people are 
married ; why should not I be ? ” 

She did not speak at once, but turned to the win- 
dow and looked over the plunging sea. 

“ It is hard to know which sex can do the stranger 
things,” she said; “they seem to vie with each 
other.” 

“ In foolishness, you mean. However, I have not 
dreamed of a monastery yet. I am waiting to hear 
your question about the lady, but you seem to have 
forgotten your natural curiosity. To tell the truth, 
I hardly know who she is myself. 

“ Ho ? Have you fallen in love with an ideal ? ” 

“ I have not fallen in love at all. I am to marry 


A PROPOSAL. 205 

as a political necessity. I shall marry a woman I 
care for of course, and who cares for me ” 

“ It is not essential in a political marriage,” she 
said, with sly sarcasm, then took a look at his stolid, 
darkening face from under her gypsy hat. 

“ I know that, but I came to ask for your advice. 
I am in doubts as to the wisdom of asking a certain 
lady to be my wife — I shall demand so much of her 
in return for my own condescension. I would not 
wish to embitter her life by making demands which 
she could not supply. You can tell me whether she 
is capable of sustaining the burden of becoming Mrs. 
Wallace. You know Miss Lynch?” 

“ De Ponsonby’s daughter? Oh!— quite well; 
and she is of your own religious belief, too, which is 
an advantage.” 

“ Perhaps it draws me towards her out of many 
indifferent fair ones, and she is very beautiful.” 

And very good, I know — pious as an angel, 
without losing a woman’s vivacity or interest in 
worldly matters.” 

“ Her piety I consider a drawback. Women are 
not like men in these matters. If moved at all they 
are carried too far, and they mount a mere cere- 
monial observance and call it standing on principle. 
Such women are dangerous.” 

“ Yery true. But Frances Lynch will not be dan- 
gerous unless you come within reach of her claws. 
Hature always provides its weak children with ugly 
means of defense, and the weaker the animal, the 
uglier its weapon. Then, you know, woman has a 
tongue, but that is nothing.” 

Oh ! yes, it’s a great deal. But I came to you 


206 


SOLITAEY ISLAND. 


for advice. Do you think she is the woman ? make 
my doubts certainties, like the good fairy you are 
and always have been.” 

“ If I do I shall ask a service at your hands,” she 
answered softly. “Well, my advice is, follow your 
heart first ” 

“ I did follow it once,” he interrupted, “ and you 
know how it ended. I shall not try it again.” 

Florian was in despair. These manners were not 
Mrs. Merrion’s, and while they became her, as every- 
thing did, they did not please him so well as the ordi- 
nary sauciness and defiance. If the oratory was the 
cause of it he would like to abolish it. She waited 
for some time after her last words before speaking. 
“ I have something to show you,” she said reluct- 
antly. He knew it was the oratory and she led the 
way there. He was now at liberty to express his 
surprise, while she stood blushing. 

“ I see it all,” he said : “ this is the meaning of 
your desertion of the fashionable world, of your loss 
of old time cheerfulness and your increase of melan- 
choly. Who would have believed it ? ” 

“ You seem to pay great attention to my moods.” 

“ If you are to pay attenion to women you must 
watch their moods, for their moods are themselves. 
I don’t like to believe that this summer’s mood is 
you. Perhaps it will pass before winter.” 

“ Oh ! I hope not, I hope not,” she said earnestly. 
“ Would you not wish me to become a Catholic ? ” 

“ It is natural, I suppose, to wish it. But it does 
not suit every soul to get the faith. I hope it will 
not do you any more damage. I would like to be of 
service to you and to advise you. The first thing 


A PROPOSAL. 207 

I advise is, don’t enter a convent. It’s the worst 
possible place for a convert.” 

“ I will not if you say so,” she answered mildly, 
and, the bell ringing for tea, they changed the con- 
versation. It was pleasant to Florian how much at 
ease he felt with Mrs. Merrion, and he thought with 
some regret of the change his marriage and her 
conversion would cause in their relations. Barbara 
persisted in her religious mood far into the winter, 
and charmed her special circle with the new and 
picturesque lights religious melancholy shed upon her 
character. Florian was constantly at her side, and 
was as constantly putting off that interview with 
Frances, which Peter Carter dreaded and the society 
world was daily expecting. Strange thoughts were 
surging through him, passionate, impossible schemes 
that ended as they began — in nothing. Yladimir 
opened his eyes for him. The Count was charmed 
with Barbara’s religious whim, and often rallied 
Florian as its inspirer. 

“ Nature and Fate have both favored you,” said 
Yladimir one day with an envious look upon his friend. 
“ Mrs. Merrion adores you, esteems you. You are 
indeed a lucky fellow to stand so high in her favor, 
and at the same time to be adored by De Ponsonby’s 
fair daughter. I wish you would choose between 
them quickly, and give me an opportunity in either 
place.” 

“Your special line of action,” said Florian, flush- 
ing in spite of himself, “ is not apt to be encouraged 
in those quarters. You are not in Paris.” 

“ I know that, but women are women the world 
over. While you stand m my light I acknowledge I 


208 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


can do nothing ; but give me a clear field, remove 
your Jupitership to one side or the other and see if 
Mercury is not as good a thief as ever. Why do 
you dally so much ? If you are in doubt take my 
advice and' choose Barbara. The divorce court is 
not pleasant, but it will do if you work quickly and 
quietly.” 

“ The divorce court ! ” cried Florian. “ That 
sounds queerly from you, who are a Catholic, by 
tradition at least.” 

‘‘I am speaking to a politician,” the Count an- 
swered, “in whose path no difiiculties are allowed 
to stand where his ambitions are concerned. All 
your good genii urge you to choose Barbara. You 
have thought of divorce yourself many a time.” 

Florian did not attempt to deny the assertion, 
only saying : “ You are taking too much for granted, 

Count. I cannot see any weighty reasons for such 
a step.” 

“ IRo ? ” The tone was slightly ironical. “ First 
of all, this charming woman appreciates you. Sec- 
ondly, she has become a Catholic. Do you desire 
the thirdly, etc. ? — for it exists although you cannot 
see it.” 

“ Thank you, no,” said Florian, hardly able to 
conceal his agitation. “ You have a Parisian fancy. 
Count. You will not be understood or appreciated 
in this country for many a year.” 

“ These are the days of primeval innocence,” 
sneered the Count, “ and the republic has usurped the 
virtue of the world. Well, wear your mask, Florian, 
but when you choose to throw it off let me know. I 
can lose no time where I have already lost so much.” 


A PROPOSAL. 


209 


During the next few days Florian loitered long in 
Frances’ company, eager yet dreading to pluck the 
flower which grew so near his hand. He had not 
proposed to her as he had said he would, he could 
not bring himself to do it. What if circumstances 
should change the state of affairs ? What 'if some 
one should die f He shuddered at the direction his 
thoughts were taking, and determined to end the 
uncertainty by an immediate proposal. Frances was 
passing his room one afternoon, and, hearing her 
light step, he called to her cheerfully to enter. He 
had fought his last battle with self a few minutes 
previous, standing before the pure pensive face which 
hung over the bookcase, and he had turned it to the 
wall with the intention of removing it forever from 
his aching gaze when he had won from his new love 
her promise to share life’s joys and trials with him. 

“ I wished to show you this picture,” he said, as 
Frances came timidly to him. “lam going to put 
it away forever.” 

She smiled inquiringly, and trembled in secret. 

“ You know its story,” he went on; “every one 
knows it since Mr. Carter first heard it from Squire 
Pendleton.” 

“ I have heard it,” replied Frances, scarcely trust- 
ing herself to speak. “ Mr. Carter was very earnest 
about it, and persisted in telling it more than once.” 

“ Precisely. You did not know Kuth Pendeton ? ” 

“ I just met her for a moment. She seemed to be 
a very sweet girl, and 1 was glad to hear she be- 
came a Catholic.” 

“ Yes,” assented Florian ; “ I suppose it was for 
her good.” 

14 


210 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ Will you excuse me ? ” said she, with a blush 
which betrayed her fears. 

“ I shall detain you so short a time,” he interrupted 
boldly. “I wish you to know the truth of this 
affair — it was such a garbled story which you heard. 
Do you not think her face a very strong as well as 
handsome one ? Would you blame a man for loving 
its owner very deeply ? ” 

“ She was so good ! ” F ranees answered nervously. 
“ I thought more of that than her face.” 

“ She was good, poor Kuth ! We grew up together 
from childhood, and I knew her goodness of heart 
so well, and had loved her even as a boy. It was 
no surprise that when we had grown up I should 
have asked her to marry me. She accepted me and 
but for the difference of religion we would have 
been married these many years.” 

‘‘ And now that she is a Catholic ? ” 

“ FTow that she is a Catholic,” he said sadly, “ we 
are farther apart than ever. The old love is dead ; 
but we are very good friends,” he added, without a 
trace of bitterness. “ Ruth is so much my friend 
yet that she wishes I would get a good woman for 
my wife. I am trying to do so. Tell me. Miss 
Frances, am I deserving of a good one ? ” 

“ If you are not,” she replied, trembling, ‘‘ who 
can be ? ” 

“ That is your natural kindliness of heart speaking. 
But how many women would care for a man whose 
heart was once given to another ? ” 

You have it back again,” she said with uncon- 
scious irony. 

‘‘ But not sound and whole. The first love broke 


A PROPOSAL. 211 

it, and the second love may find it hard to accept 
second-hand furniture.” 

“ Your comparison is too literal,” she replied. 
He turned the picture once more to the wall. 

“It shall never look this way again,” he said, 
“ until my wife turns it with her own hands. I am 
in love once more, and the woman I love is you.” 

The hot blood surged to her face and back again 
to her heart. He took her hand in his with tender 
respect. 

“ I have hopes,” he continued, “ that my love is 
returned. May I hope ? ” 

She burst into tears and hid her face in her hands. 
He let the storm wear itself out before he spoke 
again, and a very sweet face she turned to him when 
he began to assure her of his love. 

“ I know it,” she said faintly. “ Do not teU me. 
I return it all.” 

“ I need not tell you,” he said, “ what a respon- 
sibile position you are taking. You have now on 
your hands an ambitious, hard-working man. How 
will so gentle a being manage me ? ” 

“ You are so willing to be managed : and that is 
the secret of every woman’s control over a man.” 

“ Ah ! ” said he, with a smile and a sigh, “ but not 
always.” 

“You can manage yourself during the ‘not 
always, ’ ” she replied. 


CHAPTEK XYIII. 

MBS. WINIFEED’s CONFESSION. 


Fak away from the clatter of the town, in a 
deep enclosure of trees stood the convent where 
Kuth was passing the quiet days of her novitiate. 
The doubt and distress had long been ended, and 
faith had found a resting-place in her soul. The 
mournful past lay behind her, a picture with faded 
outline, and all those incidents and personages 
which had made up the circumstances of her life 
seemed no more than the remembrances of a troubled 
sleep. Everything about the convent life was so 
real. Where passions lay dead or asleep there were 
no heartbreakings. Every voice was soft and low, 
every souud was music ; the cheerful stillness which 
hung over the place consecrated anew the sacred 
dwelling. It was a spot where a soul came to know 
itself quickly. So far away now seemed the world 
that she took with ease the resolution to retire from 
its turmoil forever. 

One person Euth could not forget. Paul Eossiter 
had so closely identified himself with her conversion 
that every thanksgiving besought a benediction for 
him, and no face looked out more strongly than his 
from the misty past. As the months passed, Euth 
found her gratitude to the poet taking a deeper hold 
on her heart. Self began to fall away by degrees 


MRS. Winifred’s confession. 213 

under the friction of daily prayer and mortification. 
Her enthusiasms began to diminish in number and 
intensity. The first hot fervors of the convert died 
away into a healthier and more sustained emotion, 
and with this new feeling came the first intimations 
that God had not called her to the spiritual life of a 
convent. She was in love with her convent, there 
was no attraction in the world for her ; marriage 
she never thought of, her literary tastes could be 
more easily gratified where she was ; yet into her 
spirit, day by day, farther and farther intruded itself 
the conviction that she was not appointed to this 
life. It cost her many tears before she opened her 
mind on the subject to her confessor. He listened 
to her story with interest and was a long time in 
coming to his decision. When he did give one it 
was imperative and final. She must go home and 
find her vocation there. Yery sadly, and yet with 
some relief, she laid the case before the superior. 

“ I am not surprised,” said that lady, to Kuth’s 
great astonishment, “not so much as you were. 
Have you ever heard anything about your friend, 
Mr. Kossiter ? ” 

“ Ko, I have not. I shall meet him some time 
probably, if he is living. I can never forget him.” 

“ And are you absolutely determined to go into the 
world ? Remember it is quite possible that after you 
are outside your spirit may change as powerfully as 
it has on this occasion.” 

“ I must take the risk. I am not going to a bed 
of roses, and I am leaving one. But what can I do ? 
Some restless spirit has taken possession and will not 
be exorcised until I am gone hence.” 


214 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ Why not go off as a novice with permission, 
remain in the world until your mind is settled, and 
then return if it seems wise.” 

“It is kind of you to suggest that,” said Euth 
slowly, “ and I will think of it.” 

“I may as well tell you,” began the superior 
suavely, “ I had a visit from Mr. Eossiter during the 
spring to inquire about you.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Euth with parted lips and amazed 
eyes. 

He sent you his regards. I was very glad to meet 
him, after all you had told me concerning him. He 
seemed to be ill, or going into an illness.” 

Euth grew pale and nervous. 

“ I think Mr. Eossiter must have a high respect for 
you. He loitered a long time about the grounds after 
his visit here and indulged in some drawing and writ- 
ing. One of the sisters found a specimen of his work 
and brought it to me. I have preserved it for this 
occasion. I would have told you of this long since 
had I thought it would have been for your good. It 
is for your good to know it now.” 

She handed a package to speechless Euth and dis- 
missed her. The novice took it to her room and 
opened it in feverish haste. What connection could 
she have with Paul Eossiter’ s writings and sketches ? 
It was the bit of bristol-board on which he had scrib- 
bled the day of his visit to the convent. Euth read 
and studied it with flushed face and moistened eye, 
and into her heart slipped the first spark of love to 
light anew the flame which gratitude had once lighted 
there. As much as her vocation had been a matter 
of doubt before, so much of a certainty it now be- 


MES. WINIFKED’s CONFESSION. 


215 


came. She left the religious life absolutely and for- 
ever, though with many tears, and presented herself 
one sunny afternoon before Barbara Merrion in 
Brooklyn. 

“ Why, what in the name of everything uncommon 
and wonderful.” cried Barbara, “ brings you here, 
Ruth Pendleton ? ” And an angry light shot into 
her eyes. 

“ I am too tired to say anything now,” said Ruth ; 
“ but when I have rested you can give me your opin- 
ion on that.” And she handed her the bit of bristol- 
board. Barbara examined it critically, and a happy 
smile touched her face when she caught its full im- 
port. 

“ What a happy destiny which threw this in your 
way,” said she, “ before you were bound to the nun’s 
life irrevocably ! ” 

“ I had resolved long before to leave the convent,” 
Ruth replied. Barbara did not believe the assertion. 

“We had arranged a match for you and Paul long 
ago,” Barbara said, laughing, “ and I assure you we 
were bitterly disappointed when our plans failed. 
The poet is not here now, and no one can tell where 
he is.” 

“ Florian must know,” said Ruth confidently. 

“ Oh I dear no. They had a quarrel of some kind 
after you left, and have never since been intimate. 
Early in the spring Mr. Rossiter left his quarters and 
has not since been heard of.” 

“Not been heard of?” Ruth murmured tremu- 
lously. 

“ Were you aware that about the poet’s departure 
there was a mystery, that he was ill and poor and 


216 


SOLl^J'ARY ISLAND. 


wretched when he went away, that Madame Lynch 
dismissed him because of a false story of Peter Car- 
ter’s, that he left the house secretly, and that there 
is a suspicion of — shall I say it ? ” 

“ Suicide,” said Kuth calmly, though her face was 
pale. “You may say it, but I do not, could not, 
believe it of him.” 

“ Nor I,” Barbara added with emphasis ; “ but the 
poor fellow left in a sad plight and where he went 
no man knows.” 

“ He was at my convent in the spring, and went 
northward, but how far or in what direction was not 
known.” 

“ A little money will discover him. Now go to 
bed for a few hours, and when you come down I 
shall acquaint you with the news of two hemispheres 
— some of it interesting, I assure you.” 

Euth obeyed. When she sought Mrs. Merrion 
later in the day the vivacious sprite was carrying in 
both hands her manual of prayer as she walked tire- 
lessly through the long hall. 

“You are piously engaged,” said Kuth, smiling 
at the unusual sight. 

“ I must be, having an ex-nun here,” replied Bar- 
bara, smartly ; “ and then I am making preparations 
for my baptism.” 

“For your baptism?” repressing an inclina- 
tion to lauffh. “ Are you ffoine: over to the 
Baptists ? ” 

“ No, to the Catholics,” and her eyes fell. Euth 
stood for a moment transfixed and actually sus- 
picious. 

“ I congratulate you,” she said at length, but there 


MRS. Winifred’s confession. 217 

was little warmth in her good wishes. “ When did 
this happiness come to you ? ” 

“ So long ago that 1 scarcely remember. It was 
not sudden. It grew within me. But let us talk of 
something more to your taste. Converts are sus- 
picious of one another. You have heard, perhaps, 
that Florian is soon to be married.’’ 

“ I have heard none of these things, but I sup- 
posed it would take place some time. Who is the 
happy lady ? ” 

“ You remember that Frances Lynch who ” 

“ What a good choice he has made ! ” Buth ex- 
claimed in delight. “I hardly expected it from 
Florian. It will save him — surely it will save 
him.” 

“ Save him from what ? ” said Barbara sharply, 
and crossly too. 

“ From himself and the temptations which surround 
him in his position. Florian needs a check of some 
kind. I think him apt to fly beyond limits.” 

“ You would make a Puritan of him. I think he 
Avas fortunate in missing you.” 

“ It was fortunate for us both,” Kuth answered, 
and dismissed the subject with a sigh. Barbara sat 
watching her secretly. She had improved very 
much during her absence, and the pale, spiritual 
light which shone about her face rendered its nat- 
ural beauty more remarkable. The old aggressive 
flrmness seemed gone from her manner, the old 
determination had found a different way of express- 
ing itself ; and, sweet and gentle as Kuth had ever 
been, these qualities were now intensified. 

“ If she beckoned Florian to her now,” thought 


218 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Barbara, with some bitterness, “an army of me^s 
and Franceses would not keep him from her.” 

Inquiries for the poet resulted only in the dis- 
covery that not one of his friends knew anything 
of his present abode ; then Barbara began to grow 
irritable, and Kuth fled homeward without visiting 
Florian. 

“ And so Buth Pendleton is back ! ” was the cry 
in Clay burgh two days after a tired and disappointed 
woman left the train at the station, and, unrecog- 
nized by her friends, walked in the direction of the 
Squire’s now lonely mansion. Yes, Euth was back 
to the old scenes, a much sadder and much happier 
woman than when she left them ; and if the tears 
filled her eyes at sight of the familiar objects, and 
a great pain pierced her heart, it was not more than 
the protest which nature makes against change. 
Coming home at a late hour that night, Pendleton 
felt his heart give a thump as he saw lights in the 
unused parlor windows and heard the tinkling of 
th^ long closed piano. 

“ It’s Euth,” said he, stopping to catch his breath 
and rid himself of a fit of trembling. “ It’s Euth 
come back again for good,” and he held out his arms 
to her. 

“ I’ve come back for good,” she whispered, as he 
threw his arms about her. “ I shall never leave you 
again, father.” 

And they both believed it ; for it had been a pet 
theory of the Squire’s that if Euth again returned 
it would be never to leave him, and in her hopeless- 
ness at that moment she felt a premonition that her 
stay in Clayburgh was to be permanent. 


MRS. Winifred’s confession. 219 

“ And where did you come from ? ” said the 
Squire. 

“ From New York ; and I have some astonishing 
news for you. Barbara Merrion has become a 
Catholic, and Florian is going ’’ 

“Hold on!” said the Squire, with a gasp, and 
maybe an oath. “ Barbara become a Catholic ! 
Kuth, you’ll have to don your old clothes. It isn’t a 
religion for any one when she’s in it.” 

“ She is very much changed,” said Euth, in a tone 
that seemed to approve of the Squire’s sentiments. 
“ You would not know her.” 

“ H’m ! ” grunted Pendleton. “ I’d know her if 
she put on the Pope’s own rig. She’s Barbery all 
the same. I’ll wager any sum that she’s up to some 
of her devilish tricks. She hasn’t got her eye on 
Florian now, has she ? It would be easy enough to 
give old Merrion the slip, and she’d coax an angel 
into sin, I swear.” 

“ Florian is engaged to Frances Lynch.” 

“ O Jer-rusalem ! ” said the Squire,' with a mighty 
roar of pain, “ Then it’s all over, Euth — it’s all 
over.” And in an instant the tears were falling in 
a shower and a few sobs shook him fiercely. He 
had never given up his hope that Florian and Euth 
would yet be reconciled. 

“ It was all over years ago,” Euth replied, gently. 
“ I did not think you expected it still, father.” 

“ And I had no right to,” said the Squire, striding 
impatiently down the room. “ You never held out 
a hope, though Florian thinks just as much of you 
to-day as he did ten years ago. Let it pass. I’m 
always making a fool of myself. Don’t know when 


220 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


I cried before. And so Barbery is a papist, hey ? I 
wonder how long she’ll remain one ? And Florian’s 
done it at last! Well, he’s got a mighty nice girl, 
but it won’t please Peter Carter much.” 

“ What about Mr. Carter? ” she asked. 

‘‘ Oh! you knew him — the greatest fool that ever 
lived; and I dunno,” added the Squire dubiously, 
“ but that I was a greater fool, for I actually thought 
that man a genius. He had an idea that Flory was 
no match for that Lynch girl, and was anxious to 
help me in matching you and Flory. He did, but 
he helped me the wrong way. I’m inclined to in- 
vite him up here this summer, and let him make an 
ass of himself through the town.” 

“ It would not be becoming,” said she ; “ he is too 
— too ” 

Too much of a talker,” supplemented her father. 
“ Yes, he gives one away every five minutes when a 
secret is entrusted to him. Oh ! no ; I’ll not invite 
him to this house. Well, Euth, you’re back, and I 
am consoled for all my waiting. I’ll have to stand 
a pile of chaff, though, from the boys when they see 
you going up to the Catholic Church. How will you 
stand the women though ? ” 

“ I am not afraid,” said Euth cheerfully, “ for I 
am a sort of balance for Sara Wallace’s defection.” 

“ That’s a good argument,” said the Squire in de- 
light. “ I’m glad you mentioned it, for I’ll give it 
to ’em first thing. I hope you’re contented, Euth, 
with your new clothes. Do they fit easy ? ” 

“ So contented ! ” said Euth, with a happy smile. 

“ And oh ! if I could persuade you ” 

“ There, there ! ” he interrupted hastily. “ It’s all 


MES. Winifred’s confession. 221 

right if you are happy, but don’t try to rope me into 
any of these religions. They’re good enough for the 
women, but they’re beyond me. I thought more of 
Catholics, though, before Barbery joined them.” 

With a sigh Kuth relinquished the appeal which 
she had intended to make to him. 

“ I must warn you,” continued the Squire, “ that 
if you try to convert me I’ll take to drink, upon my 
honor. I’ll get too stupid to understand an argu- 
ment. So just let up on ideas of that kind. Go to 
bed now, and sleep off convent notions.” 

During the next few days the greater portion of 
the town paid its respects to Kuth. Among her 
visitors were the worthy elders of the various con- 
gregations, curious to know by what process of rea- 
soning this young lady had gone over to the enemy, 
and many were the amusing questions put to her. 
Her great defense was the perversion of Mrs. Buck 
and the right of private judgment. With these 
weapons she triumphed easily, and Clayburgh ac- 
cepted the position with the easy-going, matter-of- 
fact slowness which is an inheritance from Manhat- 
tan ancestors and does not prevail in bitter, unfor- 
giving ISTew England. Mrs. Wallace had not called, 
much to Ruth’s surprise, and at the first opportunity 
she went over to see her. Time had dealt hardly 
with the placid lady. The Mrs. Winifred who feebly 
grasped Ruth’s hand was an insignificant shadow of 
the stout, timid lady of three years ago. She tried 
to smile and chat with the old-time manner, but had 
not breath enough for so large a word as “ seem- 
ingly,” and Ruth sorrowfully recognized the fact 
that Mrs. Winifred’s days were numbered. Her 


222 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


chief anxiety was for Florian. Florian was the 
theme of every conversation, and her chief anxiety 
was whether her boy was uneasy in mind and haunted 
by any apprehensions. 

“ Because if he is,” she said to Kuth, “ I can help 
him, and I will in spite of every one.” 

It was the most determined expression Mrs. Wini- 
fred had ever been known to use, and only her ex- 
treme weakness accounted for and excused it. 

“I shall not last much longer,” said Mrs. Wini- 
fred, after a few moments of silence. “ I wish it 
had ended long ago. But no matter, Euth, let me 
tell you something ; this trouble is all about Florian 
and Linda and I feel it here,” laying her hand on 
her breast, “gnawing always. In a few days I shall 
send for you, maybe, to do me a favor. You will 
come, won’t you? Promise me, Euth.” 

“ Oh ! certainly,” said Euth assuringly, for the 
sick woman began to get dangerously eager. 

“Ah! but you must promise, dear,” she cried, 
catching Euth’s dress with feverish hands. “ Seem- 
ingly, you must promise that you will come, no mat- 
ter what stands in the way.” 

“ I promise,” answered Euth. 

After scanning her features for awhile in an in- 
valid’s pitiful way, she lay back satisfied. 

“ What do you think of her ? ” said Billy when 
next he met her. 

“ What can you think of a dying woman ? You 
will not have her long. Why not send for Florian ? 
She is always speaking of him.” 

“ The Pere wouldn’t hear of it,” said Billy, tremu- 
lously. “ Ho, no, he wouldn’t hear of it. I couldn’t. 


MRS. Winifred's confession. 223 

permit it. It was that Eussian, tlie divil ! that did 
it all. Ever since he came here we got no good of 
her. It’s awful ! ” 

Euth wondered at the Pere’s interference in the 
matter, but said nothing, as she wished to speak to 
the priest later. 

“ It seems reasonable,’’ she remarked to her father, 
“ that if the poor woman wishes to see her son she 
ought to see him.” 

“Why, of course,” shouted Pendleton, “and so 
she shall. I’ll send for him — no. I’ll go for him my- 
self.” 

“ And do all sorts of harm,” Euth interposed. 
“ No, no, father ; but you might find out from Billy 
what his reason is for not informing Florian of his 
mother’s condition. Then we would the better know 
what to do.” 

“ Jes’ so,” said the Squire, with a blush for his 
own stupidity. 

“ And to-morrow,” said Euth, “ you must get out 
the boat and take me over to the islands. I have 
not seen the hermit since my return.” 

“ There isn’t much about him to see,” said her 
father in disgusted tones. “ He’s had a doctor run- 
ning over there for some time seeing to a patient who 
lives with him or near him, and not one of us can 
find out who the sick man is.” 

“ Trust a woman to do that,” said Euth. “ I shall 
know what is to be known about him by this time 
to-morrow night.” 

Since the day she had bidden him good-bye in the 
cabin previous to her departure for New York she 
had not set eyes on Scott, and she was curious to 


224 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


learn what changes time had made in his looks, 
habits, and opinions. They went over the next 
day, and were a long time getting to their destination 
owing to scanty wind ; but the scenes, the old scenes 
were so very beautiful that Kuth could have lingered 
even longer among them. A soft haze rested like a 
veil on distant objects, and the river was dotted with 
the boats of fishing-parties, whose songs and merry- 
making floated pleasantly to the ear. Every spot 
was a memory to Kuth, and Linda’s bright face 
seemed ready to peep coquettishly from behind rock 
and tree. They came to anchor opposite the well- 
known boulder, and Kuth, leaping ashore, ran 
eagerly up to the house and knocked smartly. She 
heard the sound of voices in the room within, but 
only the hermit met her at the door. He had Izaak 
Walton in his hand and a cold look on his face, but 
she offered both hands so radiantly that he could not 
but smile at her delight and shake them gingerly. 

“ You are welcome back,” said he gravely. 
“ You’ve come to a safe harbor, and I hope you’ll 
stay in it.” 

“ You may be certain that I will,” she answered 
in a low voice. 

Scott led the way into the house — the same old 
house, unchanged even to the patches on the bed- 
quilt. Kuth’s tears began suddenly to fiow as she 
stood looking at the only perishable spot about her 
which had a seeming of immortality. There it stood, 
not one iota different from the room in which Florian 
and Scott and she had discussed measures for the 
Squire’s safety nearly a decade of years past. 

“ I always thought it the gate of heaven,” she 


MBS. WINIFKED's CONFESSION. 225 

said, smiling through her tears, “ but now I am sure 
of it.” 

“It makes little difference to some people what 
gate it is,” he replied. “They wouldn’t take ad- 
vantage of it anyhow.” 

“ The nearer you get the harder to get on,” said 
Ruth ; “ and the gate is the worst part of the 
road.” 

His eyes flashed an instant’s surprise and ad- 
miration. 

“ You’ve learned something since you were here 
last,” he deigned to say. 

“ Learned something ? ” retorted the Squire, labor- 
ing to keep his oar in the conversation. “ Why, 
man, do you think a woman goes backward as she 
gets older ? Men advance, why not she ? ” 

“ I didn’t say that men advance,” replied Scott, 
“or that women didn’t. Flory used to say that 
woman was the only creature which learned noth- 
ing from experience.” 

“ Right he was, too. When Flory said a thing he 
hit the nail on the head every time.” 

“You saw him lately, perhaps?” said the hermit 
to Ruth. 

“Yes, and he was very proud and happy in the 
possession of a young lady whom he is soon to call 
his wife.” 

“ Ah I ” said Scott indifferently. 

“ But his mother is so ill,” Ruth went on ; “ and 
the family do not seem to think of sending for him. 
She is always speaking of him.” 

“These great statesmen,” said Scott, “are not 
always willin’ to give up their time to sick people. 

15 


226 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


He must have consid’able work on his hands be- 
sides.” 

“You have not asked me yet,” said Euth, “ about 
my experiences since I left. They have been very 
new I assure you.” 

“ I know them all,” Scott replied briefly. 

“ And you take no credit to yourself for that ful- 
flllment of your prophecies ? ” 

“ They might never have been fulfllled, an’ they 
weren’t prophecies. I guessed what might have 
happened, an’ it did — that’s all.” 

Euth was disappointed. Scott’s ordinary brusque- 
ness seemed to have taken a more gloomy shade, 
and the sarcastic, rough philosophy of his speech to 
have given way to a matter-of-fact plainness. They 
talked on in an aimless way for a half hour longer, 
and then took their leave dissatisfled, without hav- 
ing discovered any trace of the stranger who was 
supposed to be living with the hermit. Euth pressed 
his hand at parting, with the tears in her eyes. 

“ You are as human as the rest of us,” she said. 
“ You have changed, and not for the better.” 

He did not reply, and Euth, as they sailed away, 
watched him sadly. 

“ Change, change, and nothing but change,” she 
murmured. “lam getting old indeed. Hone but 
the old feel change. These differences in people hurt 
me.” 

Until the new life began to fit her shoulders she 
was weighed down with despondency. For a time 
it seemed hardly worth the trouble to live and flght 
the daily heartache and try to All up the sense of 
loss which existed in her soul. Hursing feeble Mrs. 


MRS. Winifred’s confession. 227 

Winifred helped her to overcome these feelings. 
But as the lady grew weaker, and there was the 
same hesitation in sending for Florian, she began to 
feel indignant. Every day the mother called inces- 
santly for her son. She did not ask to see him, but 
an increasing anxiety as to his personal safety was 
evident in her manner. Although it was thought 
she was delirious at times, Kuth perceived a hidden 
meaning in the apparently wild utterances. Kuth 
was about to send word to Florian when one day Mrs. 
Winifred called her and gave her the key of a cup- 
board in the room. 

“ Open that,” she said, “ and then follow my 
directions.” 

The cupboard contained on its dusty shelves a few 
old books and papers. At the back was a secret 
compartment neatly inserted and concealed in the 
plastering; and from this mysterious hiding-place 
Kuth drew out a metal box small enough to be 
carried in the pocket. 

“ Now get pen and paper,” said Mrs. Winifred, 
with a new decision in her voice, “ and write as I 
bid. Seemingly this can’t last forever, and I’ll not 
have Florian’s blOod on my hands.” 

Kuth sat down in awed silence and began to write 
the following confession. Several times she laid 
aside the pen in amazement, thinking Mrs. Winifred’s 
senses had taken leave of her ; but the lady smiled 
reassuringly and bade her continue : 

Florian Wallace and his sister Linda are not my 
children. Thirty years ago a stranger came with 
them to me and begged me to take care of them. 


228 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Their mother was dead, and he offered me a large 
sum if I would adopt them as my own and keep from 
them forever the secret of their parentage. I have 
done so up to this moment. Florian now stands in 
danger from secret enemies, and I make this confes- 
sion for his benefit, that he may know how to meet 
them. His father resembled him closely, but that 
his hair was yellow and his eyes blue. He told me 
his story. He was from Russia, compelled to fly 
because of his religion. He wished that his children 
should never return to Russia, and urged me to rear 
them as my own. He had papers in his possession 
which he intended to destroy ; but I stole them from 
him and kept them to this day. What their value 
is I do not know. He left his children with me and 
went away. Some time ago a stranger, said to be a 
Russian, came to this tovm. I believe he was look- 
ing for the children. I know he will do harm to 
Florian, and I warn him. My husband can witness 
to the truth of this confession. 

“Winifred Wallace.’’ 

“ You will give that to Florian,” said she feebly, 
“ and also the box. It was a great trouble to me, 
but now I feel better. You will have to be secret. 
There are some who think I have the papers, and 
would like to destroy them. Be careful, my dear — 
be careful.” 

Exhausted by the effort she had made, Mrs. Wini- 
fred fell asleep, and Ruth was left to think over and 
realize this strange story. The metal box was easily 
opened. It was full of papers, legal documents most 
of them, composed in French, and all tending to show 


ME8. WINIFRED’S CONFESSION. 229 

that certain persons were nobles or princes of high 
rank in Eussia. And so Linda, poor dear Linda, 
was perhaps a Eussian princess, born to luxury and 
love, to move through storied halls in proud attire, 
to live among the great and mighty ; and fate had 
given her instead a home and grave in an obscure 
American town. She could not picture to herself 
that dainty girl in any other form than the sweet, 
familiar one, nor fancy her a haughty lady of royal 
blood. And Florian was a prince! It was easy, 
indeed, to dream of him in such a position, who had 
ever been a prince among men ; but she sighed as 
she recalled his present temper, and thought how 
little such an elevation would benefit him. His 
grasping ambition would now be increased and the 
field of wicked opportunities widened. While she 
sat and thought the sick woman opened her eyes 
again. 

“ Euth, dear,” she whispered, “ you must carry 
the letter to Hew York yourself. I could not trust 
it in any other hands.” 

“ Ho,” replied Euth ; “ but Florian shall come 
after it.” 

A look of joy passed over Mrs. Winifred’s pale 
face. 

“ I would so like to see him again ! ” she said. 

And Euth posted with her own hands a letter to 
Florian, urging him in strange, mysterious language 
to lose no time in reaching Clayburgh. That night 
Mrs. Winifred died suddenly and alone. They found 
the poor woman, her beads clasped in her hands, 
quite cold. She would never look again on the boy 
to whom she had been so faithful and kind a mother. 


OHAPTEK XIX. 


BARBARA WINS. 

The chief mourner at the funeral was Mrs. Buck, 
to whom had been made known the curious fact that 
she was the only child of her parents. She wept 
copiously over both sorrows. Florian seized upon 
his papers, and made vigorous attempts upon Billy 
and the priest to discover if his father were yet liv- 
ing. They knew nothing or would reveal nothing 
and he was compelled to give up the effort for a time, 
and learn what Billy could tell him in detached sen- 
tences of the first appearances of his father. It was 
meager information. However, with legal accuracy 
he jotted down dates and facts, and carried them 
home with him. He continued to keep his own 
counsel regarding late events and to study up a line 
of action. His was an eminently practical mind. 
He thought less of his title and his ancestry than of 
the gold they represented. The idea of donning his 
princely name and settling down in Eussia entered 
his mind only to be ridiculed. He would not do 
such a thing even were it at all feasible ; with as- 
sassination threatening it would be the highest folly. 
His chief difficulty was the mess of pottage. If he 
could get a half-million ! It was a large sum — half 
of it was a large sum — but one serious circumstance 
threatened to diminish and perhaps destroy it. His 


BARBARA WINS. 


231 


father was, perhaps, still living, and no plans that 
he could form safely bridged that difficulty. Prince 
Louis of Cracow would not risk his money on chance, 
nor would he himself care to act so freely with what 
was only presumptively his own. 

After many days of weary thinking he came to 
no conclusion in regard to his manner of procedure 
with the Count. Florian did not care to tell him at 
once of his late discovery. If his father were alive 
it became necessary to produce him. If he were 
dead his death must be well proven before the Prince 
of Cracow would part with his gold to the prince’s 
son. And Florian so needed the money that he 
could not think of the dread possibility of waiting 
for it another year. The convention of the next 
summer was to nominate a candidate for governor, 
and he was determined to try for the nomination ; 
but he needed gold to soften his own party and to 
gild his religion out of sight. Here was his only 
chance to obtain it. Ambition’s fever was eating 
him up, and his moral perceptions, long blunted, 
seemed losing their edge entirely. He allowed the 
autumn and winter to slip away without doing more 
than to set a very commonplace detective on his 
father’s track. Nothing, of course, was discovered 
concerning him. His only confidant in business 
matters was Mrs. Merrion, whom he had not yet 
made aware of his change of fortune. He called on 
her one afternoon when twilight was drawing near 
and visitors and admirers were sure to be put aside. 
She had a new doubt of conscience for him to solve. 
Her conscience always troubled her now that she 
was a Catholic. 


232 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“Father Baretti told me to-day” — she affected 
foreign clergymen — “ I had been speaking to him of 
some dear gentlemen friends of mine ” 

“ God help him,” groaned Florian, “ if he has to 
listen to the tales of women ! I know a tithe of 
what his sufferings must be.” 

“ But let me tell you ” 

“ Ko, no,” he cried impatiently, “ not a word. But 
let me tell you what I came to say. Would you 
take me for a Kussian prince of royal blood ? ” 

“ I would take you for a czar,” she said with en- 
thusiasm. 

“ Well,” said he, standing before her smilingly, 
“ if you ask the Count he will tell you that he does 
not believe I am plain Florian Wallace. He will 
swear also that I am Prince Florian of Cracow, the 
heir to a noble title and estate, whom he has been 
commissioned to find in this country. For want of 
proof he has not been able to do it. But I have 
the proofs now. My supposed mother gave them 
to me on her death-bed, and I am at this moment 
truly the Prince Florian. Is it not a romance ? ” 

She did not answer for a moment, but sat staring 
into his earnest face. His strange words carried 
conviction with them, but they caused her such as- 
tonishment and bitter disappointment that her first 
expression was a half-stifled sob. 

He looked at her curiously. “ I suppose,” she 
began, “ oh — I do not know what to say. I cannot 
congratulate you. Pray tell me all from the begin- 
ning.” 

He obeyed, and she listened with shining eyes. 

“ Oh ! what a happy destiny,” she cried ; “ what 


BARBAEA WINS. 


233 


a future for your wife! How we missed it that 
thought so little of you in Clayburgh! What a 
bitter punishment for us 1 ” 

“ Ay, indeed,’’ he sighed, “ what a bitter punish- 
ment ! ” 

“ Kuth will be sorry enough now that she threw 
you aside.” 

“ Hot at all,” said he moodily ; she it was who 
first heard the story and got me the proofs. There 
was not one whit of regret in her manner. If there 
had been ” 

He growled the rest of the sentence to himself. 

“If there had been,” she continued maliciously 
and bitterly, “somebody would be left out in the 
cold.” 

A burning flush spread over his face. 

“ You see how I estimate you,” she said archly, 
“ and you cannot get offended at the truth.” 

“ I have not the title yet. I am not going to Eus- 
sia nor to wear my title. I am going to sell my right 
to it and remain in America.” 

“ You are not going to wear your title ! you are 
going to remain in America ! That takes the ro- 
mance from the story. I don’t feel like helping any 
one that’s so foolish as to do that.” 

“ It is not so very foolish. I am to run for the gov- 
ernorship of this State, and, if I have money enough, 
I shall get the place. Which would you prefer, the 
governor or the prince ? ” 

“ The governor, by all means,” said she promptly, 
seeing that such was his inclination. 

“But my father, who has the first claim, may 
be living. I cannot sell while he is known to be 


234 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


alive ; and if he appears or does not appear, where 
ami?’’ 

“ Act as if he were dead. Probably he is, and will 
never disturb you.” 

He walked the room in thought. The twilight had 
deepened into darkness and the street-lamps outside 
were shining on the wintry night. Her advice had 
occurred to him already, but he did not like to whisper 
its dishonesty to himself. 

“ I will think about it,” he said ; “ it’s a nice point 
to decide.” 

“ And naughty,” said Barbara cheerfully ; “ but it 
is the only thing to do, and you ought to do it im- 
mediately, if you expect to have the money in time 
for the convention. Y ou are attempting high flights, 
Florian.” 

“ It will not be my last if it succeeds. If it does 
not I shall come down with a crippled wing.” 

“ Prince Florian,” said she, half to herself, ‘‘ I fear 
me you will get the crippled wing. In some ways 
you have not the support you should have. Frances 
is too weak a woman for you.” 

“I know it,” he said calmly, but his face had 
whitened suddenly and his hands were trembling. 
“ But the one woman fitted to support me is beyond 
my reach.” 

“ I am not so sure of that. Love and ambition 
laugh at many things. I know one woman who, if 
you would dare to to take her in spite of many difii- 
culties, would be willing to follow you into hovel or 
palace. But you are too fearful. You would not 
dare to do as she would dare.” 

“Perhaps not,” he answered; and then, after a 


BARBARA WINS. 


235 


pause, he said in a singularly quiet voice, “ hTame 
her, and I swear to you that if she be the woman I 
think her I shall dare anything.” 

Barbara very significantly gave him her hand. 

Count Yladimir was honored next day with a visit 
from Florian, who carried a packet in his hands. 

“Welcome, my dear friend,” said the Count; 
“ you are becoming a model fiance. All your time 
is so exclusively devoted to Miss Lynch that you can- 
not spare an afternoon to your friends. It is well. 
Have all the skeletons of the closet laid bare for 
Madame’s inspection, and there will be no dream of 
them after.” 

“ Hever mind those trifles. Count. I have here 
some serious business for you. I can now prove to 
you that I am the only son of the missing prince. 
Here are some new revelations.” 

Vladimir could not repress the exclamation of sur- 
prise that rose to his lips. 

“My mother died in September,” said Florian, 
“ and made a confession. She also delivered to me 
these papers. How please examine them and tell 
me what you think of my chances.” 

The Count read the documents slowly and care- 
fully, Avith an expression of professional distrust on 
his handsome wearied face. 

“ They are very complete,” said he, “ and I con- 
gratulate you on your adA^ancement. You are noAV 
a fit object for assassination.” 

“ So I suppose ; but as I emphatically decline to 
accept either the title or Kussian citizenship, I hope 
that danger is averted.” 

“ It would be,” said the Count sloAvly, “ if you 


236 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


really mean that. But I cannot understand you to 
mean that you will not attempt ” 

“ I mean that precisely. I don’t want the title but 
I am in need of half a million. If my noble relative 
concludes to buy me off for that sum, he can remain 
forever unmolested.” 

“ My dear boy,” said the Count, delighted, “ you 
relieve me. I shall never have the pain of seeing 
your stiffened body lying in the morgue. Instead I 
shall have the pleasure of handing you as much 
money as I can squeeze out of the prince. There is 
one little obstacle. There are no proofs of your 
father’s death, wherefore it is to be presumed that 
he is alive.” 

“ Do not let that trouble you. My father knows 
your Eussian methods too well ever to bother you. 
It is I who will receive the trouble, and I am pre- 
pared for it. If he makes his appearance, depend on 
me to manage him. If I do not your noble employer 
will.” 

“ Is it so ? ” said the Count, with a peculiar smile. 
“ Then consider the work done.” 

“ I would advise you,” said Florian, “ to call in 
that agent of yours and dismiss him. It is impossi- 
ble to say what harm he might do through the coun- 
try, looking for the heir.” 

His work is ended. You need not fear him.” 

“ That I never did,” said Florian. 

That very day he began to lay his plans to secure 
the nomination at the convention, and with the money 
which he had acquired, and the influence he had won, 
and his name rung to every change by the partisan 
newspapers, his prospects looked very fair. The 


BAKBARA WINS. 


287 


story of his life was published far and wide. When 
it became known that he had preferred his Ameri- 
can citizenship to the proud birthright of a Eussian 
prince, his popularity knew no bounds, and papers 
and people were never tired of calling him Prince 
Florian, and pointing to him as a bright example of 
American training methods. His religion was not 
mentioned. It was a question which his party never 
could handle with perfect freedom, and the opposi- 
tion never disturbed it unless for campaign purposes. 
The convention nominated him for governor amid 
universal acclamation : and if the means employed 
to obtain this result were questionable, such as the 
free use of money and the glossing over of his relig- 
ious tenets, they were not crimes and did not dis- 
turb the sweet serenity of his slowly toughened con- 
science. In all his life he had never experienced 
such a thrill of delight as swept through him on seeing 
his name at the head of the State ticket. It dazed 
him for an instant. He felt already under his hand 
the mighty throbbing of the great State whose des- 
tinies he was to guide for twenty-four months. He 
would give a world for one continuous draught of such 
a delight. 

Frances alone was silent and reserved. She made 
no such demonstration as her mother did, and was 
ever looking at him with a vague alarm in her face. 
She received her share of public attention also, but 
it did not please her. He was sufficiently tender- 
hearted to feel ashamed in the presence of the pure 
young girl, and to wish to keep out of her way as 
much as possible. What was he to do with her, now 
that she was become a burden to him? It was a 


238 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


question he did not like to face, for when he looked 
at it squarely it showed him so much in the light of 
a villain that the reflection was unpleasant. He had 
no conscience in the matter, but he bad a spark of 
something which is called honor. During the course 
of the month he met the Count by appointment and 
received the first installment of his money. 

“ After this it will come rapidly,” said Yladi- 
mir ; “ and my employer desires me to give the sin- 
cerest thanks to the young relative who concludes to 
accept the inevitable for so handsome a price. You 
are always welcome, so he says, at the ancestral 
hall.” 

“ Much obliged, indeed. I shall be careful not to 
call, though, until the price is paid. If I died in- 
testate the money would revert to the Prince. I can 
fancy he would like nothing better than an oppor- 
tunity to get it back.” 

“ Tell me,” said Yladimir, as they were parting, 
“have you yet any notion of where your father 
might be ? ” 

“What put that in your head?” with a quick, 
sharp look into the Count’s yellow face. “ I hope 
your bloodhound is not looking for him.” 

“We have nothing more to do with him,” he 
said proudly. “ It was mere curiosity that prompted 
the question.” 

Nevertheless the Count’s curiosity wakened dor- 
mant considerations in Florian’s mind, and he 
walked away ill at ease. His thoughts were turned 
forcibly into a channel which hitherto they had 
avoided. His father, if alive, was probably de- 
termined to die with his history a secret, yet his 


BARBARA WINS. 


239 


existence was in some sort a menace to that relative 
Avho had purchased from Florian rights which were 
not actually his to sell. What if that relative had 
instituted a search for his father. And what if he 
should be found by that Mcholas whose murderous 
profession declared itself in his face ? Florian shud- 
dered and put the thought from him as too awful 
for probability ; but it seemed so fitting a climax 
for the defections of which he had been guilty that 
again and again through that day and night he trem- 
bled with apprehension. His faithlessness to Fran- 
ces, his bad dispositions and political heresies, loomed 
up before him like gigantic clouds from whose bosom 
threatened to leap the thunderbolt of crime. He 
was urged thereby to renew more actively his search 
for his father, and to have Nicholas shadowed. 
Under these precautions his mind found temporary 
rest, but occasionally the first thought presented 
itself like a specter and wrung his soul most cruelly. 

Barbara, on his next visit, was absent in Buffalo, 
but she had left a note for him enclosing a telegram. 
Its information was stupefying but welcome. Mr. 
Merrion had died suddenly in a Buffalo hotel, and his 
widow had gone to bring the body home. Fate 
clearly was helping him in his downward course. 
There remained between him and happiness but one 
obstacle — the fall elections. He had a sublime 
American faith in the power of gold, and was de- 
termined to spend his last cent in convincing the 
people of the harmlessness of his faith in American 
politics. 

The most effective attacks which were made on 
Florian during the campaign came from an anony- 


240 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


mous writer in letters descriptive of his personal 
character. They could have been written by no other 
than a person well acquainted with him. The lettters 
verged on brilliancy, and gave a fair account of 
Florian’s rise and gradual change of opinions, with 
the views which orthodox Catholics held concerning 
him. Florian read them with feelings of indigna- 
tion. There was a traitor in the camp, and he 
thought seriously of libel suits, until the failure of 
the letters to appear quieted him. He received his 
first hint as to their possible author from Barbara. 
She was certain Peter Carter wrote them. She 
could see his natural manner in every line ; and sure 
enough, after critical examination many evidences 
of the man appeared in them. When Florian had 
made complaint to madame, and she had accused 
Peter of abusing her hospitality, he admitted the 
charge cheerfully. 

“ I’ve been waitin’ this many a year to put him 
down to the public for what he is,” said Peter, with 
the usual flourish, “ and I’m doin’ it. Those letters 
aren’t half of it, either.” 

Madame glared at him in a dangerous way. 

“ You may look, mother-in-law,” said he jauntily, 
“ but the days of looks are over. Ye are going to 
marry Frances, in spite of all my remonstrances, to 
a man that’s fit for nothing better than the Brooklyn 
freelance. I told ye I’d never permit it. I tell ye 
so again.” 

Frances was present at this tirade, and felt, with- 
out knowing its cause, a deadly sickness of heart. 
She looked at her mother inquiringly, and it drove 
madame into a passion. 


BARBAKA WINS. 241 

“ You need not repeat your threats to me,” she 
said, “ but go and execute them.” 

“ That I will shortly, an’ ye can get ready for it. 
Ye’re a queer mother to allow such a man to be 
connected with your daughter — a man that would 
give the whole of her for Barbara Merrion’s little 
finger, an’ will be apt to do it before long, now she’s 
a widow. Anyhow, I’ll do it for him ” 

“ How dare you,” cried Frances, starting to her 
feet, pale with rage — “ how dare you talk so of a 
gentleman ? O mamma ! why do you permit it ? ” 

“ How dare I ? ” snapped Peter pitilessly. ‘‘ What 
daren’t I do? An’ he’s a gentleman, is he? Oh I 
he’s a gentleman of the new school, I suppose. But 
I’ll teach him ; an’ if you don’t give him up of your 
own accord, you will of mine.” 

Frances burst into sobs and ran out of the room, 
which sobered Peter. “ From this moment,” said 
madame frigidly, although she was terribly excited, 
‘‘ our relations cease. You must leave this house 
forever, and one penny of your allowance you will 
never again receive.” 

“ What a joke ! But the day of jokes is over, too. 
I’ll not leave the house, an’, by hook or crook. I’ll 
have my allowance to the last.” 

“ Go, go ! ” cried madame, trembling. ‘‘ Do not 
urge me to have you forcibly removed.” 

Florian was sitting one evening in madame’s pri. 
vate parlor. Frances Avas engaged with her needle- 
work, and her mother was nodding over the pages 
of a magazine, when Peter unceremoniously entered. 
One glance at his face would show that he had 
come on a desperate errand. It was purple from 
x6 


242 


SOLITAKY ISLAND. 


suppressed feeling, and his eyes were averted. He 
made a great fuss over shutting the door. Madame 
sat pale and apprehensive, yet with the calmness of 
a courageous despair. Frances, seeing her mother’s 
expression, grew nervous, and Florian shaded his 
pallid face with his trembling hand. Peter, cough- 
ing and strutting, stood before him. 

“ I have a story to tell you,” said he in tones too 
unsteady for coughing to render firm, “ and I’d like 
you to listen.” 

Florian bowed in a cold assent. One of Peter’s 
peculiarities of speech was that in moments of ex- 
citement he lost much of his brogue. 

“Ye are engaged to marry this girl here,” con- 
tinued Peter. “ Well, I forbid the banns — ahem! — 
that is, the thing can’t go on without my approval, 
which I won’t give. I am her father ! ” 

IN’aturally, after this astounding revelation, there 
was an awesome silence, broken only by a sob from 
Frances, upon whom the truth of his last declaration 
fell crushingly. 

“ There ! ” snapped Peter, turning angrily on his 
wife, “ there’s your training. She’s ashamed of her 
father.” 

“ She must thank her father for the feeling,” said 
madame, greatly relieved at the bursting of the 
storm and apprehensive only of losing Florian for a 
son-in-law. 

“Just so,” said Peter thoughtfully. “You see 
and understand, Mr. Wallace, why I’ve so often 
threatened you about this marriage. You see, I 
know as well as you do that the coming governor of 
this State, and perhaps the next president, can have 


BARBABA WINS. 


243 


nothing to do with the daughter of the scribbler, 
the dead-beat, the broken-down gentleman. I’m 
sorry I didn’t tell of it before, an’ so prevent any 
unpleasantness. But my daughter is sensible, if her 
mother has misled her a little. She’ll give you back 
your freedom, an’ for her sake you’ll pardon the 
mother who deceived you into an alliance not at all 
creditable to one of your blood and position, even if 
you made it willingly.” 

Proud of his speech and his diplomacy, Peter 
strutted across the room. He had effectually silenced 
madame. Frances was struggling with her agony, 
and there was another silence until Florian, shame- 
faced and awkward, spoke : 

“ This is —a — very peculiar — a — accident. I regret 
extremely that I had not known it sooner. If you 
will permit me I shall retire to consider ” 

“ Of course,” said Peter briskly, “ but not till 
Frances has shown the proper spirit of the Des- 
monds. She’s not ashamed of her father, sir, the 
direct descendant of a noble Irish house, and will 
release you willingly. Stan’ up, girl, and throw 
him back his pledges — that is, Frank, he couldn’t 
marry you, you know, and your father such a 
villain.” 

‘‘You are free, Mr. Wallace,” said she. 

“Bravo!” shouted Peter to supplement her 
weakness, for Frances was panting with the effort. 
“ Spoken like a Desmond’s own daughter.” 

“ My dear child,” said madame, “ you wrong 
Florian ” 

“Hot another word!” cried Peter; “you’ve 
wronged him enough already, and can’t you see by 


244 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


his face he’s crazy to be rid of us ? Don’t dare to 
play mother-in-law any more.” 

“ You are entirely free, Mr. Wallace,” said Frances 
again and more calmly. “ Under no circumstances 
could I now think of a marriage with you. Please 
do not add to the painfulness of this scene by speak- 
ing, but go at once.” 

His pride would not let him depart so meanly, and 
coming over to her side, he tried vainly to take her 
hand. “ Believe me,” said he feebly, “ no one more 
sincerely regrets these circumstances than I do. You 
will always have my highest esteem, and unless you 
bid me go I shall never leave your side.” 

Madame would have strengthened this offer with 
her own influence but for Peter’s silent threat to 
demolish her if she said a word. 

“Oh ! go, sir, go ! ” cried Frances hardly able to 
repress the anguish of her heart, which this hollow 
speech increased tenfold. He went out of the room 
rejoicing and flew to Barbara. 

“ There goes the greatest villain this side of the 
Atlantic,” said Peter, half-triumphant, half-disgusted. 
“ A Kussian prince, forsooth 1 A gentleman, an 
American gentleman, bedad. D’ye mind, Frances, 
how ready he was to give ye up ? He is gone 
straight to Widow Merrion, now, to tell her the 
whole story and get her ready for marrying him. 
I’m sorry I let him off so easy. He ought to be 
made pay for it, and, if it was only to spite him, I’d 
like to see you married to him. I’ll make him pay 
for it yet.” 

“ You had better,” said madame, “ for your work 
to-night shall cost you dearly. If you are not gone 


BARBARA WINS. 


245 


from this house to-morrow the police shall remove 
you. You shall have no further opportunity to show 
your vile ingratitude.” 

“ No, no, mamma,” said Frances ; “ we have suf- 
fered too much to add to our suiferings. Father 
has done well and he shall stay with us in his right- 
ful position. I am glad to know you, father,” she 
added, throwing her arms about him and kissing 
him ; “ only ” 

She broke down and wept, and Peter mingled his 
tears with hers. 

“ You are a fool, Frances,” said madame severely. 

“ Never mind, dear,” whispered Peter ; “ you’ll 
get over it some time. And you won’t be ashamed 
of your father hereafter. He was born and bred a 
gentleman, and his Desmond blood was as pure as 
milk, when the Kussian stream was no better than 
a barbarian’s. I’ve saved you, and I don’t care for 
twenty allowances.” 

“ But I might have saved him,” sobbed Frances, 
“ and now he is hopelessly lost.” 


CHAPTEK XX. 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 

Count Vladimir was at this moment a disap- 
pointed man. Barbara had made a deeper impres- 
sion on him than he had deemed possible, and he 
took her indifference keenly. His vanity had re- 
ceived a more serious wound than his affections. 
How was it possible that an elegant and titled aris- 
tocrat could fail in a quarter so open to the influence 
of such qualities as he possessed? Was the blade 
dulling through long service? He vainly tried to 
account for Barbara’s coolness to him, and was in- 
clined to suspect Florian of undue interference : but 
his good sense convinced him that the betrothed of 
Frances could have very little to do with Barbara at 
present. 

“Unless,” he thought, bitterly, “my instruction 
and example have made him a more consummate 
rascal than I imagine.” 

This supposition was somewhat wild, however, 
and he continued to visit Barbara and speculate 
drearily on the matter until chance revealed to him 
what reasoning and observation had failed to dis- 
cover. He paid Florian his last installment of money 
two days before the election, and at the same time 
referred innocently but effectively to the oft-men- 
tioned existence of his father. 

246 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 


247 


“ The prince, my employer,” said he, ‘‘ trusts that 
should your father turn up you will see that he sub- 
mits to the present arrangement.” 

“ He need have no fear,” Florian replied agree- 
ably. “I am sure of my ability to manage him 
better than the prince himself.” 

“ I doubt it,” said Vladimir, with a smile whose 
meaning pierced Florian’s heart. “ If you failed to 
deal with him by your roundabout American meth- 
ods, Eussian simplicity would surely make an end 
of him. I warn you of that now and finally.” 

“ I am glad the whole matter is complete,” Florian 
replied indifferently. “ It has been very trouble- 
some and dangerous” — with a placid but meaning 
look at the Count, who was pleased to let the insin- 
uation pass. 

Well, our business relations, dear Prince, are 
ended, and your last hold upon your native country 
is cut off. I wish you all the honor and glory Amer- 
ica can give you. Let me advise you once more to 
keep a bright lookout for your father.” 

He went away smiling, as if he knew how those 
last words rankled in Florian’s heart. Why did he 
so persistently refer to the subject ? Had he some 
news of the lost prince, and was the spy still on the 
trail, seeking to put out of the way this last obstacle 
to his master’s security ? Florian shook like a leaf 
at the suggestion, and, half-maddened at its possi- 
bility, sought counsel and sympathy from Barbara. 

“ The Count has seen,” said she, “ that you are 
annoyed by this idea of your father rising specter- 
like to demand his own, and delights in punishing 
you. I do not think your father can be living. You 


248 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


have shown the most admirable diligence in look- 
ing for him. It would not do to be too open or too 
sharp in the search, for you might meet an impostor 
who would give you much trouble and expense.” 

That is very true,” said Florian, much relieved. 

I am too scrupulous.” 

‘‘ It is highly probable that the prince is dead, or 
so hidden, in fear of his relatives, that it is too great 
a task to find him. I do regret one thing in the 
late transactions with the Count — that in renouncing 
your rights to your father’s estate you did not insert 
the clause, ‘ until all heirs of the present family fail.’ 
I have an idea I would look well in a Eussian court, 
and I am so fond of a title.” 

“ When you reign in the executive mansion, ma 
chere, you will hold a more assured and brilliant 
position.” 

“ But suppose you do not get elected ? ” 

“ A senatorship then awaits me. But you must 
not begin to croak so soon. If money and influence 
mean anything, the position will be mine.” 

“ But your religion,” said Barbara, ‘‘ is a great 
stumbling-block.” 

“ I have glossed it over pretty well,” he answered 
lightly, “ and my plain utterances on many mooted 
questions have shut the mouths of my enemies tight. 
Awa}^ with these dismal speculations ! You relieved 
me of my fears for my father, let me now banish 
your doubts of my election. This is love’s hour. 
Politics and business too rudely intrude on it.” 

“ Don’t be foolish. That is the Count’s talk, and 
I hate it.” 

“ Poor fellow ! his famous to-morrow is almost 


MINCE FLORIAN. 249 

here. He has hopes of you still. He is going to see 
you very soon and settle matters finally.” 

“ He had an idea,” she said indignantly, “ that I 
might fall in love with him after the European fash- 
ion. I saw it from the 'first and resented it. Other- 
wise he would have made an impression on me, for 
he was a most charming man.” 

“ That past tense is a hard criticism on him, my 
dear.” 

“ There, there, more of the Kussian foolishness.” 

“ I beg pardon,” said a voice at the door. “ I do 
not think ” 

Florian’s haughty self-confidence never showed 
better than at this trying moment. He released 
Barbara’s hand, and rose politely and coolly to greet 
Count Yladimir. 

“ You will excuse me,” said the Count in a vain 
effort for composure. 

‘‘ Certainly,” said Florian. “ Come in. We were 
just speaking of you, and you fit into the conversa- 
tion very well.” 

“ I am honored,” said the Count. “ Do you con- 
verse as tenderly and often about me with Miss 
Lynch, your affianced ? ” 

“ Hot my affianced. Count. That little romance 
is dead.” 

“ I begin to comprehend,” said Yladimir, strug- 
gling desperately with anger and humilation. “ And 
am I to suppose that the lovely Mrs. Merrion is 
soon to console herself for her recent great sorrow 
by becoming ” 

“ Precisely,” said Barbara, who had regained her 
usual coolness. 


250 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ I congratulate you both,” said the Count, whiten- 
ing to the lips, ‘‘ and at a more convenient time I 
shall be happy as a friend to learn more of this ex- 
traordinary romance. Good-afternoon.” 

It was with blinded eyes and staggering gait that 
he found his way out of the mansion. A horrible 
bitterness and wild rage against himself and Florian 
filled his heart, and but for the shame of publicity 
he would have raved and cursed where he was like 
any madman. 

“ My teachings have turned on myself,” he 
muttered. “ I taught him and he has gone lower 
than I by degrees. But wait. Have patience, Vladi- 
mir.” 

He rushed into his own rooms and gave way to 
the passion which consumed him. JSTever had he 
been so bitterly humiliated, and never had he so 
poor an opportunity of revenging himself on his 
enemy. What was the poor consolation of a duel 
when he wished to tear his rival limb from limb — 
what benefit to him when death had placed his 
enemy beyond his reach ? Oh, if he could but 
inflict upon him some maddening, lifelong torture. 
When his rage had cooled somewhat he noticed a 
letter addressed to him lying on the table, and its 
well known writing made him seize it hurriedly. 
It contained but one line : I hme found him. 
What am I to do f ” A sardonic smile spread over 
his worn face. He held a match to the letter and 
stood smiling while it burned to ashes. 

“ Ho answer,” he muttered, “ is a death-warrant. 
This is the first drop in the bucket.” 

A little fl.ame leaped up from the paper and 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 


251 


scorched his finger. He started angrily from the 
reverie into which he had fallen, stamped it under 
foot, and fell to thinking again. He was not so 
satisfied with his action when it was done. lYhat 
had Florian’s father done to him that he should 
wish to murder him ? A word from him at this 
critical moment would save a human life, and he 
hesitated to give it because he had been humiliated. 
Humiliated ! The word brought the passion of anger 
on again with two-fold intensity. He pictured anew 
the scene he had just witnessed in Barbara’s draw- 
ing-room, and, foaming at the mouth, stamping and 
blaspheming, he shouted, “ Let him die ! Let him 
die, and his accursed son with him ! ” 

The first result of this desperate passion appeared 
in Clayburgh. The Squire was assorting the morn- 
ing mail, and he came across a Hew York postmark. 

“ How who can that be from ? ” he said. “ I 
don’t know that I ever saw that handwriting be- 
fore.” 

Kuth suggested that he should open it. He did, 
and read the name subscribed with a shout. 

“ Carter, by all that’s amiable ! It’s pretty short 
for a spouter like him to write : ‘ Hear Squire ’ (just 
so ; we’re deeply in love with each other ), ‘ I have 
the honor to announce my success in breaking off 
the match between Florian and Frances.’ Ha ! he’s 
at that business yet.” 

Euth trembled with apprehension. 

‘‘ ‘ It’s a clean break,’ ” the Squire continued to 
read, “ ‘ and I’m proud of it ; but I’m sorry, too, 
to let the blackguard off too easily. The divine 
Barbara had a hand in the game. But for her I 


252 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


don’t think it would have been a success. She 
wanted him pretty bad, and I hear they are going 
to make a match of it. She has tight hold of him, 
anyhow, and a worse pair never walked. So the 
thing is done at last, and I’ve kept my word almost 
to the letter. Of course he will not marry your 
daughter, but since he marries a Clay burgh girl it’s 
the next best thing. What do you think ? ’ ” 

The Squire said “ um ” two or three times after 
reading this remarkable bit of news, and looked over 
it once or twice in a dazed way. 

“ Kuth,” said he at last, “ this is worse than sun- 
stroke. She was always so smart, I know, and so 
deep ; but I had an idea Flory was deeper and 
smarter. We musn’t let this get round the town; 
it would ruin the boy’s chances in this county. Oh, 
that smiling, darned Barbara ! She turned Catholic 
just to snare him, and she’s got him, she’s got him ; 
I tell you she’s got him body and soul, for that’s her 
way.” 

Euth slipped away sick at heart and ran out into 
the open air. She saw very clearly the meaning of 
Florian’s new alliance and his reason for deserting 
Frances, and her heart was filled with a sort of 
loathing for the man who could play so poor and 
shabby a part. Against Barbara her soul rose up in 
horror. She dared not think of her at all, and turned 
her thoughts upon the sweet, gentle, and pious 
woman who had been made the victim of this un- 
scrupulous pair. The day, though cold, was clear 
and beautiful. There was a soft murmur from the 
long beach where she stood, and the shores all about 
were afiame with the colors of autumn. A single 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 


253 


canoe was visible on the bay, and she recognized as 
its occupant Scott, the solitary. She waved her 
hand to him, and he came ashore. 

“ I have news for you, Scott. Florian is to be 
married to Barbara Merrion.’’ 

The hermit looked unusually old and worn as he 
stood beside her in his averted, slouching manner, 
and there were deep lines of care or age on his 
brown face. He received her information with his 
ordinary indifference. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” said he quietly, and waited si- 
lently for her to speak again. 

“ You are looking old,” she ventured to say in 
sympathy. 

“ I am old,” he rej)lied curtly, and started when a 
swallow flew close to his face with a sudden whirr 
of its wings. 

“ Have you lost all interest in Florian ? ” she said, 
nettled by his manner. 

“ He has lost so much interest in that part of him 
which I best liked,” he answered gentlj^ “that I can 
see no use in thinking or talking about him. I sup- 
pose this woman is no honor to him.” 

“ Hot much. He threw up one that would have 
been.” 

“ So, so — every step is down. God help him and 
us ! ” he added, with a long, weary sigh that sur- 
prised and touched her. It was plain to see that he 
was suffering, and less stoically than usual. A closer 
look at his red curls show^ed them thickly twined 
with gray ; there were circles around his keen eyes, 
and the bearded mouth was tremulous from hidden 
feeling. She longed to comfort him, and knew not 


264 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


how to begin. It was a new and astonishing phase 
in his character to see in him such evidences of the 
weaker man. 

“ I thought perhaps,” she said hesitatingly, “ that 
you might do something for him. He always thought 
so much of you, was ever so willing to do as you ad- 
vised. I would dare to say that in the beginning 
you might have saved him.” 

“ I hope you don’t mean that,” he said. “ I’m 
sure you don’t. I wouldn’t think for a fortune I 
hadn’t done my share in keepin’ a man from evil. I 
knew him well. I saw there was no use. Don’t 
you think I would have tried hard if there was ? 
You know I would.” 

He was so vehement that the astonished Kuth 
could hardly believe that it was Scott who talked to 
her, but she dissembled her amazement. 

“I suppose you would have helped him if you 
knew, Scott. But people see farther than you know 
— simple people I mean. And he talked so much of 
you that we saw, Linda and I — poor Linda ! — that 
you had great influence over him. You did not use 
it — at least we thought you did not. He spoke with 
pain of your indifference. How he is almost lost ; 
this last act has completed his fall. I do not think 
you could benefit him any, yet it might do to 
try.” 

‘‘We are all fools,” said Scott, with self-bitterness. 
“ I thought I did my best ; you had better eyes. Ho, 
there is no use now ; but if you think it would do 
any good I will see him when he comes again.” 

“ Thank you, Scott. He needs friends now, if he 
ever did and he has but you and me and Frances.” 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 255 

And one other — never mind who. But he is 
driving his best friends from him.” 

He fell into a reverie, and they both stood silent, 
with the plash of the water mingling with their 
thoughts. The hermit was excited and had per- 
mitted his emotion to be seen ; but, as if regretful 
for his mistake, the old reserve began to settle over 
him again. He picked up his paddle suddenly and 
entered the boat without a word. 

“ I shall see you again ? ” she said, knowing he 
could not be detained. 

“ I s’pose — I dunno,” he answered absently, and 
pushed olf from the shore. 

She watched him until distance hid all but the 
motion of the paddle from view, and felt strangely 
depressed in spirit. Billy Wallace and the Pere 
came to tea that evening, to discuss the election and 
quarrel afterwards over their favorite game. The 
night was boisterous and stormy and had a wintry 
odor when the three old gentlemen, under Euth’s 
superintendence, sat down in the cosy parlor to a 
game of dominoes. The wind was howling and 
there was a roar from the waves on the beach, while 
the distant lighthouses twinkled weakly through 
the thick darkness. But these evidences of an ugly 
night without made the scene within only the more 
delightful, and the party prepared to pass a merry 
evening. 

“ It would be just like some old grandmother to 
take ill,” said the Squire, ‘‘ and call you away. 
There’s one thing, though — no mortal man can cross 
the bay to-night, and you’re safe from that direction. 
It puzzles me ” — and he looked at Pere Eougevin’s 


256 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


round, cheerful outline humorously, “ to know what 
there is in you that sends people rushing after you, 
at all hours and under all circumstances, to doctor 
their sick souls. Can’t a man die comfortably and 
quietly without you, and is it necessary that you must 
shout him into heaven or pray him in, or — what do 
you do, any way ? ” 

“ Why, papa ” Euth began deprecatingly. 

“ Just so, girl. It’s a fair question, and he’s goin’ 
to answer it ; and you needn’t look daggers at me 
for asking it.” 

“ He reminds me ” said the priest smiling. 

“ I^'o, I don’t ! ” the Squire roared. “ Keep clear 
of your anecdotes. You don’t spin any more yarns 
on me. Why, Euth, he has me posted all over the 
county at the tail end of forty stories.” 

Pere Eougevin was silent for the moment, fairly 
weighed down by the force of Pendleton’s lungs, and 
before he could speak there was a knock at the out- 
side door. 

“ There it is,” said Billy — ‘‘ the sick call.” 

The servant brought Pere Eougevin a card with 
a few pencil-marks upon it. He jumped up without 
much ceremony after reading it, and ran out into 
the hall. They heard a few hurried remarks from 
him and the stranger, and immediately he returned, 
bringing his visitor with him. His face was quite 
pale, but no one save Euth noticed it, for all eyes 
were turned on the new-comer. The latter bore a 
curious resemblance to Scott, the hermit. He was 
dressed in the hermit’s manner, had much of his 
silent, stern reserve, and wore his light beard in the 
same fashion ; but over his eyes the peaked cap 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 257 

threw such a shade as to leave his face a mystery. 
He stood quietly at the door and neither removed 
his hat nor took a chair. 

‘‘Pendleton,” said the Pere in some excitement, 
“ I have a bit of bad news. Scott has disappeared. 
This man lives near him and says he has not been 
home since Friday. That Eussian has been in the 
neighborhood, and foul play is feared.” 

Only Euth saw the revelation that lay behind his 
words and manner and she burst suddenly into a fit 
of uncontrollable sobbing. A thousand insignificant 
incidents of the past ten years rushed before her 
mind. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, “ I see it all now. It is terrible ! ” 

Her father stared. 

“ If any harm has come to Scott,” said he, “ that’s 
enough. We’ll avenge him. But what’s the use of 
being frightened ? If a man stays from home three 
or four days there’s no harm in it. So dry your 
tears.” 

“ O papa ! don’t you see ? Scott is Florian’s 
father.” 

“ Yes,” said Pere Eougevin with emotion, “ be is 
the lost prince, and we fear this Eussian has been 
hired to injure him, and may have done it.” 

The silence which transfixed the Squire for a half 
minute was so deep that the ticking of the clock 
sounded like the strokes of a hammer. The roar of 
the storm beat up against the house. He sat there 
with his heavy face void of expression, his eyes 
turned on the priest in a vacant stare, Avhile he tried 
to realize all that those astonishing words meant. 

“ Good God ! ” were his first hushed words. Billy 
^7 


258 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


could say nothing, and Euth was still sobbing. P6re 
Eougevin and the stranger grew impatient for prac- 
tical suggestions. 

I’m beat,” said the Squire ; “ but Fve got my 
breath again. I suppose it’s so and I don’t doubt 
but that if we had our eyes open we might have 
known it before. And now when he’s most wanted 
he’s gone, and that sneak is after him and means 
him harm. Well,” he continued ponderously, rising, 
“ we’ll look for ’em both, and deal with ’em accord- 
ing to law. Young man, what have you to say 
about it ? ” 

“The islands ought to be searched,” said the 
stranger, “ and a watch set on the waters, so that if 
foul play has done away with him his body may be 
found.” 

“ And word should be sent immediately to Flo- 
rian,” said Euth. 

“ I don’t know about that,” Pendleton remarked. 
“ To-morrow will be a busy day for him, and he can’t 
do any more than we can do.” 

“ Eot the slightest need of sending for him,” 
P^re Eougevin said hastily. “It will be time 
enough to notify him when we have found Scott or 
learn what has happened to him.” 

Euth said no more on the matter, but when the 
Squire had put on his great-coat she was in the hall 
ready to go with them and prepared to put in action 
some idea of her own. They raised no objection to 
her company, and all rode up together to the village, 
where the Squire began his search for a boat able to 
stand the fury of a southwest wind. Euth in the 
meantime had sent to Florian the following telegram : 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 


259 


“ Come at once, if you would save your father’s life.” 
By the time she reached the pier again Pendleton 
had engaged a tug for the search, and the vessel was 
getting up steam. A crowd stood about, curious to 
know the reasons of a water-journey on so tempestu- 
ous a night ; but the Squire sailed away with his 
party in lofty silence, giving only a hint to his hungry 
neighbors that it was concerned with the coming 
election. Once on the water he called a council in 
the small cabin. 

“We’re going this thing rather blind,” said he, 
“ and I would like to hear your opinions and get a 
little more reason and certainty into it. I suppose 
we can search all the small islands to-night by our- 
selves with lanterns ; but if we don’t find him we 
must get help to-morrow, if we mean to do the busi- 
ness thoroughly.” 

“ There are certain places,” said the stranger, 
“ which Scott frequented, and it might be worth the 
trouble to examine them. I know them all. But it 
is more likely that he avoided them when pursued 
by the Bussian. You must know that Scott ex- 
pected his identity to be some day discovered and 
had provided hiding-places among the islands. The 
principal of these was under his own house ; but its 
secret the Kussian discovered a few days ago, and 
he abandoned it. If he fancies that the others are 
known he will not go near them.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the Squire, “ now you have given us 
a fair start, young man. We must begin with his 
own house and island first, then take the others in 
succession.” 

He went out to the pilot-house and the Fere fol- 


260 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


lowed him, leaving Ruth and the stranger alone in 
the cabin. The boat rocked and plunged uncom- 
fortably in the heavy sea and the great waves dashed 
against the windows. Nothing was visible outside 
save the twinkling lights on the shore. 

“You will pardon me, Mr. Rossiter,” she said, 
giving the stranger her hand after a moment^s awk- 
ward silence, “that I did not recognize you until 
you spoke this evening. I am very glad to meet you 
and to see that you are well.” 

“ Thank you,” said Paul nervously, and was silent. 
Not a word was uttered concerning his long and 
mysterious absence from the world, and both were 
glad of it, for the greatness of the calamity which 
seemed to threaten them overshadowed minor things 
completely. A sudden quieting of the waves and 
the rushing of Avind through tree-tops signified that 
they had entered the tortuous channel leading into 
Eel Bay, and in a half-hour more they were sailing 
opposite the hermit’s cabin. All went ashore save 
Ruth, who felt that she would be a hindrance in the 
search, and so remained leaning against the deck- 
rails, watching the movements of their lanterns as 
they walked over the small island. They returned 
to the boat unsuccessful and steamed to another 
spot, which was searched with the same result ; and 
so through the whole stormy night they continued 
their vain pursuit of the lost prince, returning to 
Clayburgh by sunrise for breakfast and additional 
help. Ruth did not accompany them. Overcome 
with weariness, she did not feel equal to the fatigue 
of a tAvelve hours’ journey — Avhich was strictly true, 
but her real reason for remaining was the telegram 


PRINCE ELORIAN. 261 

which Florian sent her that morning announcing his 
arrival in Clay burgh for that evening. 

It was a dull, stolid day. The winds had died 
away, and the sun was buried in thick clouds before 
it had been two hours shining, and a bitter suspicion 
of snow was in the cold, heavy air. At ten it began 
to rain, and the thick mists shut out the river and 
brought a deeper chill to the atmosphere. Time 
hung the heavier on her hands. She could not read, 
and thought was distressing. A few old gossips 
came in to hear the news of the day and discover 
the cause of so much mysterious running about in 
the quiet town, and she replied in dark and secret 
language, with many hints of greater surprises yet 
in store for them, and sent them away satisfied and 
yet unsatisfied. In the stores and saloons and 
kitchens that day the Squire’s movements were 
thoroughly canvassed. A mystery so important as 
to require a tug and fifteen men to carry it out was 
a delightful morsel in dull November, and the peace- 
ful citizens enjoyed it ; but when the telegraph mes- 
senger passed the word that a special train was due 
in Clayburgh at four o’clock that afternoon, nearly 
three hours ahead of the regular train, the excite- 
ment spread to the highest grades of town society, 
and even the ministers trotted down to the depot 
under the same umbrella to examine into this second 
wonder of the day. But Florian knew his native 
village well. Half a mile from the depot Euth met 
him with the carriage, and the train moved into 
the station without a soul save the employees on 
board. So with every disappointment the mystery 
grew. 


262 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


A more wretched man than Florian Ruth had 
never seen. His proud bearing was gone, his proud 
self-possession had melted from him like snow, and 
his pale, drawn face and listless manner showed what 
he was suffering. He took her hand gratefully as 
he entered the carriage. She tried to speak, but her 
own sobs were too powerful. 

“You need not tell me,” he said. “We are too 
late. I know that, and I might have saved him ; I 
might have known long ago.” 

He repeated the last words over and over like one 
in delirium. When he had grown calmer she told 
him all the circumstances of the last few days, be- 
ginning with her last talk with the hermit, and he 
sat with head bowed, listening, nor made any com- 
ment for a time. 

“ Where were our eyes,” she said crying, “ that we 
did not see through this loving imposture long 
since? A spy could discover him, and we could 
not.” 

“ The spy has exceptional resources,” he answered ; 
“ and yet it would have been so easy to have rea- 
soned. You remember the interest he took in me, 
and I recall the dreams I had of him kissing me, 
poor father! in my sleep; and how in the grave- 
yard here one night he held me in his arms with his 
cheek against my own; and the time he came to 
Hew York, risking so much for love of me. Then 
his behavior towards Linda on her death-bed. I be- 
lieve she knew it, for she looked from him to me so 
strangely — I see it now ; I could not see it then. 
And my mother’s behavior when he was present or 
spoken of. What a life!” and he added after a 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 


263 


pause, with a shudder of horror and grief, “ and 
what a death, after so much self-denial and love ! ’’ 

“ Oh, be patient ! ” said she, attempting cheerful- 
ness. “ They are searching for him bravely, and he 
is so cunning and active that it will take an expert 
woodman to overmatch him.” 

“ His pursuer,” said Florian gloomily, ‘‘ is by pro- 
fession an assassin. He has but one instinct, that of 
death, and he will follow, follow, follow like abound, 
never wearying, never stopping, cunning and pitiless 
as a tiger, until his victim is dead. I can see him 
now crawling through some lonely patch of timber in 
the rain with that white face of his shining in the 
gloom.” 

She had to admit that the picture was not over- 
drawn, and they came to the house in silence. 

“ I will not go in,” he said ; “ I must get a boat 
and join in the search. I am going mad, I think.” 

“ But there is no wind, Florian, and you can get 
no tug, for there is none here. Better wait until the 
rain stops ; there will be a wind then strong enough 
to make the boat of use.” 

He held up his hand in the air. 

‘‘ There is wind enough,” said he. “ I could not 
stay ; I must go.” 

She went into the house and brought out some oil 
cloths for him to put on as a protection against 
the rain. With a servant to manage the boat they 
started, taking a course straight down the river in 
order to meet the tug; but the wind soon died away 
almost entirely when they were opposite the well- 
known channel leading into Eel Bay, and Kuth pro- 
posed, seeing how impatient he grew, that they 


264 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


would go to the hermit’s cabin and wait there for a 
favorable wind. It was done, and for the first time 
in years he entered his father’s house. 

“ What a palace for a prince ! ” he said, and a 
great bitterness filled his heart as memory after 
memory connected with the old cabin rose before 
him. Darkness came on, and the servant lighted 
the old candle, and the fire was started in the fire- 
place. He sat reading Izaak AYalton or wandering 
uneasily to the shore, while Kuth, wearied, lay down 
to sleep in the inner room. The night passed in a 
dead calm. At four o’clock in the morning the 
clouds parted in the northwest and the first suspicion 
of a wind stirred the water. He waked her, saying 
gently: “ We must be going.” It was cold and un- 
pleasant in the damp morning air, but a few stars 
shone faintly overhead. As before, they went 
straight down the river, taking the wider channels in 
order to intercept the tug if she should be returning. 
At daylight they had reached Alexandria Bay, and 
in the distance later on, as the sun was rising, they 
saw the tug steaming further down the river. 

‘‘ They have not found any trace of him yet,” said 
Euth. “ They are searching still, or they would be 
returning.” 

“ Why do they take the islands below instead of 
those above ? ” he asked. 

“ I believe they have a guide on board who lived 
for some time with your father,” she replied, “ and he 
thinks he must have fled in that direction. When I 
last saw him he was going down the river.” 

They sailed on, the wind still cold and feeble as 
before, and in two hours had reached the island. 


PRINCE FLORIAN. 


265 


Florian would not go near the tug or make himself 
known to any one, but went ashore in his oil cloths 
and silently joined in the search, while Tluth sailed 
to the tug for information. I^o success yet and no 
clue ! When she returned Florian was waiting for 
her on the shore. 

“ They will never make anything of this,’’ he said. 
“ It is too wild and they Avill have to cover much 
ground. Let us go back and search the islands 
above.” 

To Euth this seemed even a more hopeless task, 
but she did not feel it necessary to tell him so. The 
wind was freshening from the northwest, and with 
frequent tacking — for the channel in places was nar- 
row — they arrived at Solitary Island a little after 
noon. On the Canadian shore stood a farmhouse, 
where they ate dinner, and afterwards they landed at 
Grindstone and began preparations to search that 
island through its entire length of seven miles or 
more. Florian seemed unwearied, but Euth was 
half dead from fatigue. Obstacles of every sort be- 
gan to fall in their way. They had endeavored to 
secure horses from an island resident and help, which 
he was disposed to give only for enormous pay, 
and his petty delays wasted the precious time until 
half-past three. When at last they were almost 
ready, Euth with beating heart, pointed out to Florian 
a canoe with a single occupant making for Solitary 
Island ; and he, pale as death, watched it for a mo- 
ment, and then, seizing her hand, ran down to the 
boat and bade the servant hoist the sail. His eyes 
did not for an instant leave the figure in the canoe, 
and a flush of deep excitement and tender feeling 


266 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


spread over his face as Scott stepped leisurely from his 
boat and walked slowly to his cabin. He had taken 
the pains to pull up his canoe on the beach, and after 
entering the house closed the door. Evidently no 
harm had happened to him, and the noise which had 
been made over his accidental disappearance was 
premature. It was a few minutes past four when 
their boat touched the shore. Four o’clock in the 
afternoon of the first day of November was a mo- 
ment which had scarred Euth’s memory years back 
so badly that the hour never struck without bring- 
ing the tears to her eyes. At that hour on that day 
Linda died. She wept now with a violence that 
surprised Florian as he helped her from the boat and 
led her joyfully to the cabin. He pushed open the 
door with some difiiculty because of a heavy mov- 
able obstacle on the other side. When he saw and 
recognized the object he stood quite still for a mo- 
ment, pushed Euth gently back and, calmly as might 
be, knelt beside the fallen form of his father and put 
his hand over the heart. It was forever stilled. 
The pallid face and half-closed eyes were evidence 
enough without the bullet- wound and the blood stains 
on his garments. Scott was dead. In his hand he 
held a small crucifix, and the tears which he had 
shed in his last moments still lay on his cheek. 


CHAPTEK XXI. 

THE prince’s story. 

It was a rare day in Clayburgh — rare for No- 
vember. The air had a golden, fine-spun clearness, 
and the blue river was bluer than ever, although the 
islands, no longer green, showed their gray sides 
over the sparkling waters like faded tombstones in 
a spruce forest. The village was not one whit less 
dull than usual, and villagers shook their heads over 
the burst of unexpected sunshine. The late tragedy 
which had taken place had ruffled for a few hours 
the placid stream of existence. The affair was no- 
body’s business in particular. There was no widow, 
no children, no relatives. Scott had lived and died 
a lonely man, and the violence of his taking off con- 
cerned only society in general and the officers of the 
law. Had he been a popular, sociable fellow there 
might have been great excitement ; but it being a 
case of nobody’s funeral, no one minded it after the 
shock was over and all had been said about it that 
could possibly be said. Clayburgh had a public 
calamity to grieve over. Florian had been defeated ; 
his defeat had hurt it to the quick. It could not 
understand the counties lying to the south and 
southwest. Were they ignorant of the merits of 
the candidate, or had they been practised upon by 
designing rivals or office-seeking Whigs ? The dem- 
267 


268 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


ocrats had deserted their candidate by thousands. 
The rest of the ticket had been elected. Florian 
alone, the pride of Clayburgh, had been “ scratched ” 
by his supposed friends and left a total ruin upon 
the battle-field. What was the murder of a solitary, 
sour fisherman to such a crime ! 

However, the villagers did not, in their deep grief 
for their candidate, forget neighborly duties to the 
dead. On the second day after Scott’s death a fair 
number of the fathers, in blue swallow-tails, black 
chokers, and white felt hats, made the pleasant 
journey across the river and through the islands 
with a deep sense of the favor they were conferring 
on the dead man in taking so much trouble to pay 
him funeral honors. They were severely taken 
aback on finding, when the boat landed them on 
Solitary Island, that they formed a very respectable 
minority of the people there assembled. Boats of 
all kinds lay along the shore. Their owners were 
scattered about the island in holiday clothes as fresh 
and stylish as those which came from Clayburgh. 
The old white hats walked up to the cabin with 
muttered “ I had no idees,” and paid their respects 
to the man whom living they had rarely presumed 
to address. He lay in the little kitchen which for 
twenty years had been his living room. The brown 
habit of the scapular was his shroud and was the 
source of much speculation and wonderment. For 
no one had been aware that Scott held any religious 
opinions. The serene, meditative face had a new 
expression which few had ever before seen. The 
close-fitting cap was gone and the bushy whiskers 
trimmed neatly. Was this really the face of the 


THE prince's story. 


269 


common fisherman ? Around a reverential forehead, 
white as snow, clustered the yellow locks. The 
regular and sweet features were Florian’s own, but 
less stern, more exalted, more refined in their ex- 
pression. The people looked at this unexpected 
countenance in awe, feeling there was more in this 
man than they had fathomed. 

Izaak Walton was in its place on the table. Can- 
dles burned there around a crucifix. An altar stood 
beside the bedroom door, and on it lay the black 
vestments for the Mass. Scott was after all a 
Catholic ; and while the neighbors owned to a sense 
of disappointment at this discovery, they also ac- 
knowledged a deeper respect for the character of 
the dead. Beside the coffin sat Kuth weeping, her 
veil down, her hands clasped in prayer, her eyes 
rarely turning from the face of Linda’s father. 
Thus had she sat since with her own hands she had 
prepared him for his rest. Linda’s father ! Oh ! 
wasted years which had been spent in ignorance of 
this rich treasure. Now she knew why her heart 
had gone out to him, and she wept again and again 
as every memory showed the father’s love for his 
children and his children’s friend. She could not 
understand it ! How could any one have been so 
blind ? How could love have felt no thrill from 
this magic presence, when hate discovered and de- 
stroyed it ? A rough costume, a tight-fitting cap, a 
silent manner had hidden him from his own and not 
from his enemies. She wrung her hands and wept 
as this sharp reflection pierced her heart. But 
what need to trouble the mind now with conflicting 
thoughts? It was all over. In a strange land. 


270 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


among a strange people, the exile had died ! In a 
poor hut the Eussian prince, dead and cold, received 
from the hands of plain citizens those rites which 
kings would have been proud to give ! In a free 
country he had fallen as helplessly as in the land of 
the czars ! Its laws had been no protection to him. 
Little he cared now, indeed, for what had been or 
for all his wrongs ; what he asked was a grave and 
a prayer for his soul. 

In the closed bedroom reclined the lately defeated 
candidate for the chief magistracy of the State. 
His costume was not one of mourning, but such as 
he had been accustomed to wear, correct and gentle- 
manly, with a smack of over-polish. His face was 
a trifle pale and wearied. No evidence of any deep 
disappointment for his defeat or of any shock at the 
violent taking off of his father was visible. For a 
man in his unique position he bore himself very 
well. Looking at the dead hermit, and saluting him 
as his father after they had followed him to his 
cabin, Florian accepted the hard conditions which 
Providence had placed upon him, as he had taught 
himself to accept all unchangeable facts. No tears, 
no excitement, no curious questions, but a complete 
acceptance of the state of affairs that was marvel- 
ous. There was a show of irritation occasionally 
against two persons, Paul and Pere Eougevin — so 
faint that only the latter perceived it, because he 
suspected its existence. These two men had been 
favored with the hermit’s intimacy. They had, as 
it were, supplanted the heir in his father’s affec- 
tions, being, as Florian well knew, better conformed 
to his father’s idea of what men should be. Almost 


THE prince’s story. 


271 


mechanically the irritation showed itself. Pere 
Eougevin kept himself and the unconscious Paul 
out of the great man’s way. For this reason they 
were rarely seen in the dead room, whither Florian 
often came to gaze quietly on the prince’s face. 

It had been decided to bury Scott on the island, 
as he had often desired, and to show no signs of 
mourning which would lead the neighbors to suspect 
the real state of affairs. The grave was dug among 
the pines on the highest point of land on the island, 
and Pere Eougevin had brought over the requisites 
for the Mass of requiem. Euth had gently hinted 
the propriety of laying the prince beside Linda, but 
prudence forbade. It was never to be known save 
to the few who this poor lonely fisherman had been. 

Near noon the crowd assembled in the room and 
about the door at a signal from the Squire. The 
singers from the Clayburgh choir intoned the first 
notes of the “ Kyrie Eleison,” and the singing rose 
and fell on the clear air in that beautiful solitude 
like the sound of weeping. The incense floated 
through the door, the holy water was sprinkled, and 
the tones of the priest were heard delivering the 
sermon. Then came the shuffling of feet and the 
outpouring of the people. The Squire gathered them 
all before him in order to select the bearers, but in 
reality to give the mourners time for an unobserved 
parting with their dead. It was done very quickly. 
The Pere and Paul and Billy looked for the last 
time on the handsome face. Euth kissed the fore- 
head with an involuntary moan. For a moment, as 
the son pressed his cheek to his father’s, his features 
were twisted by an internal anguish more intense 


272 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


than physical pain. They screwed down the coffin- 
lid, and the bearers entering, a procession was 
formed. Florian offered his arm to Kuth. To the 
singing of the psalms they moved down the slope in 
front of the house and up the opposite hill. Here 
was the grave. All around were the islands, with 
no human habitation in view. Below were the placid 
waters. The voice of the priest blessing the tomb 
arose : “ Lord, in the bosom of whose mercy rest 
the souls of the faithful dead, bless this grave and 
give it into Thy angels’ charge. Loosen the bonds 
of sin which press the soul of him w'hose body is 
here buried, that for ever more with Thy saints he 
may rejoice in the possession of Thee, through 
Christ our Lord. Amen.” The clods rattled on 
the coffin with a sound familiar both to Euth and 
Florian. Ten years ago that very day they had 
buried Linda! The crowd broke up respectfully 
and yet with relief, and were not down to the shore 
when the laugh followed the joke and the healthy 
concerns of life banished the mists of death. Thank 
God, the world on this gloomy day was not all 
gloom ! The white hats and blue coats boarded the 
Juanita with hilarity, a fleet of skiffs and sail-boats 
fluttered out into the bay, and very soon the island 
was left to the Squire and his party. 

An awkward restraint was in the air. The Squire 
had no one to praise him for the glorious manner 
in wffiich he had carried out the programme, and, 
warned by the preoccupation of the others, dared 
not sound his own trumpet. 

“ You’ll stop around for a few days, Flory,” he 
said. “ You can have the run of the house, and I’ll 


THE pkince’s story. 273 

take it upon my shoulders to keep off the crowd, 
unless you go to Buck’s.” 

“ I shall stay here for a time,” said Florian. They 
all looked at him, and a glance from Kuth kept the 
Squire silent. “ My lawyer can attend to whatever 
business there is in E’ew York. Let me thank you 
for your kindness during these few days. I am 
deeply grateful.” 

“I presume,” said the priest rather hurriedly, 
“ you prefer to remain here until you return to New 
York ? ” Florian nodded. “ There are some matters 
which you would probably like to be acquainted 
with before your departure. When you find it con- 
venient I am ready to tell you all that I know con- 
cerning your father. Mr. Bossiter can furnish you 
with some facts, perhaps ” 

“ I am the bearer of a message from the prince to 
his son,” said Paul. “ It is best to defer its delivery 
for a few days, however. Whatever I know about 
him I am most willing to tell.” 

The faintest irritation showed itself in Florian’s 
manner, and his eyes blazed with some hidden feel- 
ing which the Pere alone observed. 

I thank you both,” said Florian. ‘‘ In a few 
days I shall hear you ; not now, if you please — not 
now.” 

Mr. Kossiter, you are my guest for the present,” 
said the Pere, “ and you will accompany us to the 
village. There is no need to delay longer.” 

The Squire went out to get ready the yacht in a 
dazed way, for he could make nothing of these ar- 
rangements. 

“ The boy has less nonsense about him than the 

i8 


274 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


common,” lie said to Billy, “ and it’s no sickly senti- 
ment that keeps him here. Who’d think, to see 
him, that he was defeated in a ’lection two days ago, 
and lost his father before he found him ? ” 

“ I’m glad he’s not my son,” said Billy, with a 
snuffle. “I’d rather have nobody at my grave, 
nobody, than such a stick. He’s worse than Sara.” 

The yacht sailed away and left Forian sitting on 
the boulder over the spot where Linda had received 
the fatal wetting. He thought of that and of many 
other incidents of the time. He felt on his hot cheek 
the cool breezes of that first night on the island, 
when his dreams awoke him and sent him rambling 
along the shore. Those dreams of his had been a 
wonderful reality. His father had really kissed him 
in his sleep. It was pleasant to recall those kisses. 
He was first in his father’s heart in spite of his 
sternness and secrecy. Then there was the night 
in the graveyard, when for a moment he lay in his 
arms and felt his cheek lovingly against his own. 
Accident then, now the purpose was visible. And 
Linda knew it before she died. Happy Linda, whose 
innocence merited such a reward, and to whom it 
had not been given to know him first when death 
had claimed him, and to suspect that — Again that 
spasm of mental agony twisted his features shape- 
less for an instant, but passed away beneath his 
wonderful self-poise. “ That way madness lies,” 
was the thought which shaped itself in his mind. 
He sat there all the afternoon, and when night 
came, heedless of the change, he walked up the hill 
and sat down on the grave — the first grave on Soli- 
tary Island ! Three days passed — days of some anx- 


THE prince's story. 


275 


iety to the friends of Florian. What was he doing 
on the island ? His letters were sent to him daily, 
and there were many of them, while the mail sent 
back by him was voluminous enough to show that 
his idle hours were few. Yet Kuth w'as apprehen- 
sive. About what she could hardly say ; so with 
the Squire she called on Pere Rougevin to hear the 
latest news of Florian. ‘‘ He will be here within 
the hour,” said the priest. “ I received a note from 
him to that effect. He is coming to learn what I 
know of his father.” 

“I am so glad that — well,” and she stopped 
abruptly, “after all, I do not know that he is 
well.” 

“ There is nothing to disturb him particularly,” 
said the priest, with the faintest touch of scorn, which 
the Squire took for praise. “ He remained on the 
island partly to investigate the cabin where his father 
lived, and partly to enjoy quiet and retirement after 
an arduous campaign. Sentiment does not enter 
largely into Florian’s make-up.” 

“ He’s too much of a Yankee for that,” said the 
admiring Squire. “ There’s nothing in this world 
can put Flory down, unless death. I just dote on 
that boy.” 

The sharp ring of the door-bell sounded at the 
moment. 

“ This is he,” said the Pere. “ I invite you both 
to remain and hear what I am to tell about this so- 
called Scott. It is a curious history and contains 
nothing that you may not know.” 

“ If Florian does not object ” 

“ Pon’tyou fret;,” said the Squire, cutting off Ruth’s 


276 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


polite remarks, for he was eager to stay. “ Don’t 
you fret. Flory has no family secrets from me — us, 
I mean.” 

When Florian entered the Squire saved any one 
the trouble of replying to his grave salutation by at 
once taking the position of chairman of the meeting. 
Euth was satisfied to note in silence the changes 
which a few days had made in the politician’s face. 
It was paler than usual, and the eyes seemed sunken 
and weary. The evidences were that Florian had 
not passed as quiet a time at the island as the priest 
believed, but in the hurry and gentle excitement of 
an animated conversation the paleness and hollow- 
ness disappeared to a great degree. 

“As you intend to return to-night,” said P^re 
Eougevin, by the way of preface, “ I suppose you 
are Tvilling to have me begin my narration. I wish 
that Miss Euth and her father should hear it, if you 
have no objections.” 

Of course Florian had none, and the Squire was 
delighted. 

“ I became aware of the facts which I tell to you,” 
he said, “ not by any favor on your father’s part, but 
through an accident. In the ordinary course of my 
parish business the prince found it necessary to con- 
fide in me. If he was more precise in his account 
of his life to me than to any other, it was because I 
insisted on knowing the whole story, with every 
shade that time had cast upon it. 

“ You know the title which belongs to him and 
how he lost it. He was a Catholic and favored a 
poor relative, of no principle. He lost his position, 
and almost his life, through this relative, who, by 


THE prince’s story. 


277 


intrigues quite possible in Eussia, convinced the Czar 
that his relative, your father, was conspiring against 
him. A friend laid before the unfortunate Prince 
the state of affairs. He saw at once that nothing 
short of a miracle could save him. He was young 
and practically friendless, for a Catholic noble of 
the blood royal was unique and stood alone. With 
his two children he hurried into France. 

“ The fate of his wife, the Princess, was particu- 
larly sad. She was a woman of mind and will. 
When the Prince spoke of exile she refused to leave 
her country. On good and reasonable grounds, how- 
ever. Her family was powerful. She at least was 
safe, and she was bent on doing her utmost to save 
her husband’s estates and name. But for safety’s 
sake she urged the Prince to depart with the chil- 
dren, which he did, without misgivings, yet without 
hope. His brave wife returned to the home of her 
father, made many efforts to save the estates, and 
gained so many important favors from the emperor 
that the scheming relative saw his plotting in danger 
of coming to naught. In her father’s house the 
Princess died suddenly, of poison. 

“ There was no crime, it seems, at which this rel- 
ative would stop. The Prince and his children — 
his name was Florian, like your own, sir — shortly 
felt the sting of his unscrupulousness. Tracked to 
Paris, to Madrid, to Genoa, to London, they had 
many narrow escapes from death at the hands of his 
agents. The wilds of America offered him a refuge, 
to them he fled. Hope was dead in him. Hence- 
forth his one effort was to hide himself and his chil- 
dren from the assassin. He could not do it, as you 


278 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


have seen, but all that man could do he did, and, if 
he fell himself, probably saved you. The rest you 
know.” 

It was abrupt, concise, unsympathetic, this recital 
of an unfortunate man’s life, and it left as many 
points unsettled as had been told. Florian, however, 
was prepared with a bristling array of questions. 
He burned to discover the spirit of his father’s 
strange life, and could not be content with these dry 
bones. 

“ Much of this information was contained in the 
letters and documents held by Mrs. Wallace,” said 
Florian. 

“ I do not know,” replied the priest. “ I never 
saw the letters. Your father fondly preserved them 
as mementoes of a time forever gone. Mrs. Wallace 
removed them to her secret closet without his 
permission.” 

“ I thought my father of no religion,” said Flo- 
rian. “ I had never seen about him in all the time 
that I knew him a single evidence of his faith. Was 
he a ” 

“ Ho,” said the Fere, with a touch of generous 
feeling, “ he was a fervent Catholic, such a Catholic 
as misfortune makes ; but it was a part of his plan 
to let little be known about himself. In an obscure 
village miles eastward from here he went to Mass 
and confession.” 

“ Yet his whole speech had a certain coloring,” 
Kuth said earnestly — “ a spirituality which only a 
Catholic could feel and show. We thought it was 
philosophy — backwoods philosophy.” 

“ He was a great philosopher, too,” said the Pdre. 


THE prince’s story. 


279 


“ His education had been thorough. He was a 
finished scholar.’’ 

“ Then the Izaak Walton was a blind,” blurted out 
the half-indignant Squire, “ and his talk about govern- 
ments meant more’n I thought.” 

“ It was his deep, and sincere, and simple piety 
that thrilled me most,” Ruth said, with glownig 
eyes. “ However else he deceived us, he could not 
hide that, and I loved him for it. He was like a 
child.” 

“ Of that there is no doubt. Suffering of the 
severest sort had chastened him beyond belief. For 
one so tossed about and so brought up as he, his 
simplicity was as sweet as unexpected,” the priest 
said feelingly. 

To this compliment Florian gave no apparent 
heed. 

“ Before Linda died,” he said, “ I suppose, from 
what I recall of that time, that he told her his 
secret.” 

“ On the very day of her death he told her. He 
found it hard to make her see the wisdom of keeping 
it a secret still, from you at least ; but with my aid 
he succeeded.” 

“ Poor Linda ! poor child ! ” 

Ruth glanced from the priest to the politician re- 
gretfully. There was very little in the manner of 
either to warrant a suspicion of mutual dislike, but 
the priest’s deliberate mention of his connection 
with the task of keeping Linda silent was a simple 
declaration of war. Passing over the hermit’s visit 
to New York, he came to the events immediately 
preceding the late tragedy. 


280 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“The letter which I received from an unknown 
friend warning me of the Russian’s designs against 
me was probably penned by my father ? ” 

The Pere shrugged his shoulders. He did not 
know of the letter, nor had the hermit told him of 
it. 

“ Was he apprehensive, after the visit of the spy, 
that trouble was coming upon him ? ” 

“ Well, yes,” said the priest, slowly ; “ yes, he was. 
But he had so much confidence in his disguise that 
he feared only for you. When he heard how you 
arranged the matter he was thoroughly satisfied 
and said, ‘ How the danger is over.’ ” 

“ Did he have any occasion to lose this confidence 
afterwards ? ” 

“ Hot until two weeks ago, when a heavy sadness 
disturbed him which he could not shake off. At 
that time he was not aware of the presence of his 
murderer. He must have discovered it suddenly and 
frightfully for his usual prudence and sagacity to 
have deserted him at a critical moment. His end 
is wrapped in mystery, as was his life, and I believe 
he preferred to have it so.” 

There was for a short space a little solemn thinking. 
“ I found a handkerchief in the old cabin the time 
the Count Behrenski and I were here together,” said 

Florian. “ It had a faint monogram, ‘ W ’ ” 

“It was Mrs. Wallace’s,” interrupted the priest. 
“ She stole to the island that night to warn him of 
the presence of the Count, and to bid him beware of 
meeting your friend.” 

“ And there is nothing further known of his hid- 
den life ; no letters, no scraps, no familiar insights, 


THE prince’s story. 


281 


nothing to show what the man was under all his 
misfortunes, to make one feel that he was — a — 
father.” 

The last words came hesitatingly, and were an- 
swered by a curt nod from the Pere. 

“ I have his last letter,” he replied ; “ it was writ- 
ten for you to read in the event of his death. And 
Paul Kossiter may tell you things which he has not 
told to me. More than that ” 

A shrug of the shoulders finished the sentence. 

“ Linda had some idea of it,” continued the P^re, 
“ and it made her very happy in dying. Perhaps his 
old confessor might be able to give you a glimpse of 
his interior life. I doubt it, however. It seems to 
have been a sanctuary into which angels only could 
enter.” 

“ You have, then, so high an opinion of his life,” 
said Kuth gratefully. The Pere bowed and said 
nothing for a few minutes, but, as if regretting his 
moroseness, he went on to say : 

“ He was a martyr to his religious convictions of 
course. He could have easily won the favor of his 
emperor by embracing the Greek religion and, had 
he been a less tender father, might have lived in com- 
parative comfort. The fear of bringing upon his 
children the sufferings he had endured made him self- 
forgetful.” 

“ If you will let me have the letter you spoke of,” 
said Florian, who had been indulging in a reverie, 
“ I will be going. The hour is late, and the island is 
a good distance off.” The P^re silently handed him 
a package, and rose as if to end a rather distasteful 
interview. 


282 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ I hope,” said Euth, “ that you are not going to 
bury yourself in that dreary solitude. Before you 
return to New York we would be happy to have you 
stop with us a few days.” 

“ And now that the cold weather is here,” said the 
Squire, who felt himself on familiar ground for the 
first time that evening, “ you’ll be apt to stick there 
if the ice came on too thin to bear ye and too thick 
for a boat. So you had better make a move double 
quick. And now see here, Flory, you ain't doing the 
right thing by the party and by yourself. You ought 
to be in New York making cover for what is left of 
your hay. Your father was a good man, but the best 
man that ever died wasn’t quite worth half the fuss 
made over him.” 

Florian received this lecture as pleasant badinage, 
nor did he make any reply to Euth’s kindly invita- 
tion, but, wishing them all good-night, politely with- 
drew and made his way across the river in a dreary 
unsettled way, as if he had started for no place and 
forgotten the harbor he had left. He was very eager 
to know something of the real life of his father, and 
somewhat bitter at finding himself left out so regu- 
larly in the cold. This one knew and that one knew 
some trait or incident of the hermit, and Linda had 
received a full measure of knowledge at the last mo- 
ment. He alone knew nothing. His thirst — and it 
increased every day — was always unsatisfied. His 
father spoke to him only through the cold, unsym- 
pathetic channels of dead letters or of outsiders who 
cared little for him. It was a hard condition. He 
accepted it in his usual matter-of-fact way, but it hurt 
him nevertheless. 


THE prince's story. 


283 


When the island was reached and the door closed 
on all the world — on all his care and disappointments, 
on all his ambitions — he pulled the curtains over the 
window, replenished the fire, and with Izaak Walton 
at his elbow sat down to read his father’s last com- 
munication to him. Just as his father had sat often 
during the nights of thirty years ? The old charm 
of the place was not yet lost to him; it increased 
rather because of its pathetic associations. Here he 
had slept and dreamed that his father kissed him ; 
here the hermit had made a last attempt to keep him 
in Clayburgh ; here he had tried to discover, with- 
out much if any help from God, what his vocation in 
life might be. The warning which the Prince had 
given him still haunted his memory, but he had not 
gotten over his old skepticism on that point and re- 
called it with a smile. By the light of the old tallow 
candle he opened his father’s letter and read reveren- 
tially : 

“ My son, my most dear son ; I have little time to 
speak to you. I fear, I am sure, our enemy is on my 
track. I thought you had forever averted the dan- 
ger. It is not so. These people will not be satisfied 
until they have killed me. God’s will be done! 
When you read this I shall be dead. Much obscurity 
hangs over m}^ life. It will never be removed in this 
world. It will pain you, but it was ordered so for 
your good. Believe me, your father, every moment 
of my life was a study to save you from what will 
befall me, every word that I have said to you dic- 
tated by the strongest love. Be content with what 
you may learn of me from strangers. I give you 


284 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


my love and bid you adieu. I return to you, accord- 
ing to promise, a well-known document. My most 
dear son, a stranger to me all my life, your father 
hopes and prays to meet you in heaven. 

“ Florian.” 

He read it over three, four, ten times, with a more 
vivid picture each time of the circumstances under 
which it was written, until the long suffering of his 
father’s life and the agony of tliat farewell was tear- 
ing his own heart, until sobs and tears came to show 
him that he was no more, after all, than a son of 
man. He felt humiliated, but only before himself. 
In these moments of meditation that peculiar twist- 
ing of the features took place which had been noticed 
during the funeral, as if his very vitals had been 
seized by the grasp of intolerable pain. With his 
strong will he reasoned its cause down, but still the 
shadow haunted him night and day. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

BAEBARA’S SPITE. 

After a defeat the vanquished naturally hides his 
head for a short time. This reflection did not at all 
soothe the anxiety of Barbara over Florian’s absence. 
Twenty times a day she tried to read between the 
lines of the passionate letters from Clayburgh, and 
because she found nothing her anxieties increased 
tenfold. Ruth was there, and who could tell what 
would happen ? He had deserted one woman. Such 
a man was not to be trusted ; and if the old love 
were still strong after ten years’ of absence from its 
object, what would it not be in her presence, what 
might it not dare if Ruth said, I am willing ? Finally 
Barbara packed her trunk and started for Clayburgh 
to pay her old friend a visit. She was a little fear- 
ful of the effect of her appearance upon Florian, but 
trusted to luck and her own charms to allay his 
anger. 

The sight of her stepping from the train sent a 
cold chill along the Squire’s spine, and Ruth’s first 
glimpse of her coming up the walk to the house pro- 
duced a serious misgiving in that lady’s heart. She 
was going to stay with them, of course. The city 
was so dull that she could no longer endure it, and it 
was so long since she had been to Clayburgh. While 
she was removing her bonnet and preparing to make 
nb 


286 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


herself comfortable the Squire found opportunity to 
whisper to Euth : 

“ Not one word about Flory. That's who she’s 
after.” 

“Barbery,” said he solemnly, as he sat down 
before her, “ don’t you attempt to tell me you came 
all the way from New York jest to see your old 
friends. You don’t care two coppers for us. You’ve 
got an object in coming here, and I want to know 
it. Because if you’re after me I may as well give 
in at once and save the trouble of a long courtship. 
If you’re not, then I can rest satisfied and you can 
stay here as long as you wish too.” 

“The vanity of an old fellow,” said Barbara. 
“ Now what could I possibly want with an antique 
like you ? ” 

“ An antique ! ” said the Squire, dazed. “ Euth, 
can you sit by and hear your father called an antique 
by a mere strip of a widow ? If you can you have no 
more notion of your duty than any other woman.” 

“Well, papa, you are the sheriff — put Barbara 
in jail.” 

“ I wish I could,” said he gloomily. “ She’s not 
safe even in jail, though : she’d bewitch the jailer, 
the chief of police, lawyers, judge. There ain’t 
nothing, in fact, to hold her. Barbery, speak right 
out. Are you after me ? ” 

And the Squire groaned in mock anguish of spirit. 

“ No, I’m not after you, you poor man : I have 
nothing to do with you, except to eat your dinners 
and make myself expensive and troublesome for a 
few days.” 

“ The hull house is yours, my girl, and all that’s in 


BARBARA’S SPITE. 


287 


it. If you say the word you can have any man in 
^the town that you’re fishing for brought right here 
into the parlor, and I’ll help you do the courting. I 
will, by Jupiter! ” shouted the Squire, joyfully. 

“ Thank you ; but I am engaged already. Squire.” 

“ Jes’ so,” said Pendleton dubiously ; ‘‘ but you’re 
not safe, engaged or married.” 

Sitting quietly in the parlor after dinner she flung 
down her gage of battle to them with disconcerting 
suddenness. 

“ I suppose you are both aware of the object of 
my visit here,” she said. 

“Well, Barbery,” said the Squire coolly, “ Flory’s 
high game, and I don’t blame you, but you’ll never 
get him ; mark my words — you’ll never get him.” 

“ You know where he’s hiding. Why do you not 
tell me what I want to know ? ” 

“ ’Tisn’t fair, my dear. Flory must have a show,” 
the Squire said with much gravity ; “ and as he’s 
somewhat cast down now, it wouldn’t do to let you 
go cooing around him. You’d have him married to 
you in a wink. Your cooing doesn’t suit as well 
after marriage as before, and I’m going to save him 
from you, if I can.” 

“ You might as well know,” she said, with height- 
ened color, “ that I am Florian’s promised wife. 
Will you tell me where he is ? ” 

“ If you’re engaged to him,” the Squire remarked 
wickedly, “ you ought to know where he is.” 

“ I have a batch of letters which he has written 
to me every day since he came here, and I know 
that he is here, and that is all.” 

“ You’ll have to find him yourself, then,” {Laid the 


288 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Squire ; “ and, as we don’t care to mix ourselves up 
in your doings, perhaps you wouldn’t mind going to 
stay with your friends in the town.” 

“ I have already decided on that, you funny old 
man, for it would be too much to accept of your 
hospitality farther.” 

Kuth rose and left the room without a word, hurt 
beyond measure at the vulgarity of Barbara’s char- 
acter. That it was light and insincere she well 
knew, but she had always given her credit for a 
certain refinement and natural pride sufficiently 
strong to prevent such behavior as she had just 
shown. It was bitter for her to recall that she had 
confided the tenderest secret of her heart to this 
woman, and that nothing might hinder her from 
publishing it to the world. Barbara looked after her 
with light scorn, and the expression in her face stung 
the Squire into a rage. 

‘‘ You’ve done enough for one day,” he said, pur- 
pling, “ to give you a chance at a ten years’ penance. 
That good girl sees what you are to the core, and if 
she doesn’t make it known I will.” 

“ That good girl ! ” said Barbara, with a sneering 
laugh. “She was always so good! Yet she en- 
couraged Florian into offering her marriage, and 
then threw him off. She went to a convent in a 
streak of gushing piety, and when the gush stopped 
came running down to JSTew York after a little poet 
upon whom her heart was set, and, if she had found 
him would have proposed to him and married him. 
That modest girl indeed ! ” 

With this shot Barabara transferred her effects 
and herself to the hotel in much distress of mind. 


Barbara’s spite. 


289 


She had gotten herself into a difficulty, and saw no 
easy way of escape as long as she held to her deter- 
mination to discover Florian. To it she was bound to 
hold in spite of fate, confident that her old luck 
would not desert her. But matters had a gloomy 
look, and her orders to the landlord that she be 
taken to the depot for the night train was a sort of 
submission to fate which might not come amiss later. 
Sitting in the shabby hotel parlor, idly touching the 
keys of the consumptive piano, to her entered Paul 
Bossiter. He was not aware of her presence. A 
glad sparkle lit up her eyes at sight of him. Here 
was a chance to attain her object, here was an op- 
portunity to stab Kuth Pendleton to the heart. 

“ Mr. Bossiter — O Mr. Bossiter ! is it really 
you ? ” 

“ It is, Mrs. Merrion and I am delighted to meet 
you.’’ 

“And where is Florian — Mr. Wallace? Why are 
you in the same town and not together ! ” 

“ I suppose he is loafing on his island still,” said 
the thoughtless poet. “ He spends most of his time 
there and rarely comes to the village. And may I 
ask what fate has cast you at this unhappy season 
on the shores of the St. Lawrence ? ” 

My native place receives me at any time.” 

“ Ah ! your native place ! ” 

“ You, I suppose, are soon to make your home 
here ? ” 

“ I return to Hew York in a week, Mrs. Merrion.” 

“ Where you are hopelessly unknown by this time, 
as most people think you have drowned yourself. 
And is Buth to go with you ? ” 

19 


290 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ Euth ! ” stammered the poet. Do you mean 
Miss Pendleton ? I have not addressed her twice 
since I came to the town. For a long time I was 
not aware she had left her convent.” 

“ And yet she left the convent for your sake.” 
He flushed a little, ignorant as he was of the motive 
of her boldness. She had, as she thought, an oppor- 
tunity for belittling Euth, and if the poet could not 
suspect it he could feel an uneasiness at her frank 
communications. 

“ Do you remember a bit of bristol-board,” she 
continued, “ scribbled upon by you in the convent- 
grounds last year ? ” 

He did remember something of the sort. 

“ It was found and given to Euth. Eomantic, 
wasn’t it ? They could no longer hold her in the 
convent. ‘She went by hill, she went by dale,’ 
until she came to me in the city, showed me the card, 
and implored me to aid her in finding you. When 
you were not to be found she was nearly frantic, 
and fled to the seclusion of Clayburgh to hide her 
grief. Worse than a convent, isn’t it? And I 
thought you had settled the matter, and would take 
Euth with you to the city ! Well, there’s bashful- 
ness for you ! And so, Flo — Mr. Wallace is on the 
island. Which island. I’d like to know ? ” 

“ Solitary Island I think they call it,” said Paul, 
absently, his whole body hot with mingled feelings 
of shame and delight. But he added, “ I have heard 
that he returns to N’ew York in the morning.” 

“ Thank heaven,” murmured Barbara, “ I shall be 
there ahead of him.” 

Paul went out into the open air in a daze of happi- 


BARBARA’S SPITE. 


291 


ness, — Ruth loved him ; his fate was no longer un- 
certain, but he was sorry that her tender secret had 
found a resting-place in Barbara’s boson. He could 
not see the motives of the latter’s coarse revelation 
of it to him. He Avas sure, hoAvever, that malice 
prompted both the coarseness and the revelation, 
and he had a dim suspicion that something might 
have happened since Barbara’s arrival in town to 
bring it to pass. Perhaps Ruth knew and dreaded 
that Barbara Avould do something of the kind. How 
could she ever look in his face again, suspecting 
that Barbara had so ruthlessly exposed her ? The 
more the poet looked at the matter the stronger his 
suspicions grew, and alongside them grew the de- 
termination to leave Clay burgh that night as quietly 
as he had entered it months before. Ruth would 
then feel easier. In time he could come himself to 
press the suit in which he had altogether despaired ; 
and if it was hard to forbear flying to her then and 
soliciting a surrender of the secret which rightfully 
belonged to him, its compensation was that the 
delicacy of his wife-to-be would not be so cruelly in- 
jured. She loved him and had sought for him and 
was grieved at his absence. He did not want more ; 
but he walked near the house just after twilight, 
and saw her sitting at one side of the parlor table, 
Avith the Squire at the other, her calm, peaceful 
face as sweet in its repose as if the nun’s veil hung 
about it. 

Barbara was on the train with him that night, 
but he discreetly kept out of her way. He had yet 
to learn of her engagement to Florian, of the in- 
jury done to Frances by the hermit’s proud son. 


292 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


The story would have spoiled his journey. He had 
some respect still for Florian, enough to pity him. 
Yery little the great man cared either for his pity 
or his respect. 

In the whirlpool of city life again ! Paul realized 
it with a sense of delight as unexpected as it was 
pleasant ; for he had never a great love towards the 
metropolis, and his many sorrrows there had em- 
bittered him against it forever. Hot quite forever, 
as he now felt. He had the secret of his misfortunes 
in his grasp, and nevermore could Eussian spies go 
about whispering slanders and bribing the managers 
of theaters because of his likeness to the Prince of 
Cracow. There was a fair field before him. A few 
months’ absence had banished the mists that once 
hung round him. One manager was glad to have 
him back, and another, and a third. In fact, a few 
calls in the course of the day filled the poet with in- 
ordinate vanity. 

Peter Carter received him in a commonplace attic 
with tears and embraces, and spent a luxurious hour 
describing the perfidy of Florian, the woes of Fran- 
ces, and the cruelty of madame, who had driven him 
forth into the world without mercy and without al- 
lowance. He drank too much, or perhaps too fast 
for perfect and easy narration, and fell to snoring 
before all the details, — worthy indeed of his fame 
— were given to Eossiter. The poet marveled greatly 
at the antics the city had played during his brief 
absence, and went to his old quarters with some haste 
and anxiety. 

Madame De Ponsonby Lynch gave him a gener- 
ous welcome. She was still madame, reserved, 


BARBARA’S SPITE. 


29B 


exclusive, and good-hearted, and very handsomely 
apologized for her treatment of him ; nor did the 
faintest trace of feeling appear on her smooth face 
at mention of an incident which brought her exiled 
lord to her mind. Frances, she said, was probably 
about the house somewhere — most likely in the 
famous attic which he had so queerly deserted — and 
she begged him not to be surprised at anything in 
the young lady’s manner or appearance for she had 
lately met with a severe disappointment. The dis- 
appointment he had probably heard of, since it was, 
in a quiet way, the talk of metropolitan society. 
The poet, after engaging his old attic, climbed the 
stairs to look for Frances. There was a burning in- 
dignation in his breast against the heartlessness of 
the man who could inflict so cruel an insult on a 
woman so gentle and good as his promised wife. 

She came to the door in answer to his knock, and 
for a few seconds there was a hush of astonishment 
as the two met face to face. “ Mr. Kossiter, or his 
ghost ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ And the substantial Miss Lynch,” said he, offer- 
ing his hand. “ I have engaged the garret for a long 
term, and am not likely to lose it by any more mis- 
understandings.” 

“ How can I ever ” 

“ Your mother has done it ; don’t say a word.” 

‘‘ And my poor father, that made all the disturb- 
ance ” 

I just came from him,” said Paul, smiling, “ so 
do not let bygones trouble you. I know you have 
enough of unhappiness.” 

Her lip trembled and she could not trust herself 


CHAPTER XXm. 


TEBRIBLE TRUTH. 

Florian resumed professional labors with a zest 
somewhat keen after his long confinement on Soli- 
tary Island. It had been a trying time for him, but 
he had come out of those hard circumstances a 
victor. They had left little trace on him, and he 
had put the incident of his father’s death out of his 
life as thoroughly as the death of his sister, the loss 
of Ruth, and the late election. Life’s busy round 
was gone over as evenly and as hopefully as if these 
tragedies had never been. Yet he could not deny 
that his real self had been held up to him in the 
quiet of his late retreat more minutely than at any 
time in the last ten years. He had even come close 
to admitting the truth of the portrait which nature’s 
mirror presented to him. But it was a little too 
ghastly for truth, he thought, and he put off an 
inspection of it until such time as his discerning 
mind had recovered its nice balance. When that 
time came he had forgotten it. He had to admit to 
himself that these sad events threw a shadow long: 
enough to reach the pleasantest of his days. They 
were shelved, indeed, but not annihilated. He was 
human after all, he said, when a protracted period 
of restlessness troubled him. With another man it 
would have been the “ blues ” or lonesomeness ; with 
296 


TEREIBLE TRUTH. 


297 


him it was an indigestion, or a phenomenon in- 
dependent of the will. He bore it as he bore a 
rainy day or a vexatious lawsuit. There would be 
an end to it some time. A calm, steady glance on 
the road ahead was enough to neutralize the effect of 
depression. 

It could not be said that he had a habit of dream- 
ing in daylight. In studying a political or legal 
problem he occasionally wandered into unpractical 
speculations on the incidents or personages of a suit. 
Hot often. Howadays he fell into a habit of re- 
viewing events connected with his father’s mourn- 
ful history, and of studying those points at which his 
own and Linda’s life had come in contact with the 
life of the solitary prince. These reveries had always 
one unvarying conclusion. Over his face passed 
that expression of anguish which twisted the body 
like the rack, and which had attacked him many 
times on the island. He blamed the pictures and 
mementoes in his room for this weakness. There 
was the painting of the yacht and a score of pretty 
things belonging to that former time. A glimpse 
of any one of them disturbed him, but he had not 
the heart to put them away. He was content to 
wait the time when all these things would stand in 
his memory like distant mountains wrapped in a 
heavenly mist. He had lost none of his political 
standing by his defeat, and the Senate was open to 
him. He had resolved to accept the office. It 
would be a very quiet affair, and its dullness would 
be a safe refuge for a vessel without any definite 
harbor. His love affairs were not going smoothly. 

Barbara was acting oddly. He had said to her a 


298 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


few short, polite words on the general character of 
her Clayburgh visit which were certain to put an 
end to escapades of that sort. She had a stock of 
other annoyances, however, and dealt them out 
carelessly. At an assembly she had chatted much 
with Kossiter and the Count in turn. When he 
gave her his impressive reasons why she should do 
these things no more, she had laughed at him and 
done them again. Finally the climax was capped 
when he encountered the insidious Russian in 
Barbara’s reception-room. It was certainly an odd 
thing for Florian to show his feeling strongly, 
but he did so on this occasion. His face paled 
slightly and a light sweat burst out on his forehead, 
while his hands hanging at his side shook as if with 
ague. He stood in the doorway, unable to do more 
for an instant, his eyes fixed on the Count with an 
expression which frightened Barbara into a faint 
scream. Vladimir smiled with deep satisfaction,* 
and, bowing politely to the lady, bade her good- 
morning and withdrew. The scream brought 
Florian to his senses, and Barbara’s pretty and 
anxious inquiries were met with his usual self-pos- 
session. 

“ My dear,” said he — and the little lady recog- 
nized the tone very well ; it always reminded her of 
the late visit to Clayburgh — “ the Count is obnoxious 
to me for the best of reasons. I do not wish to see 
you and him together again on any occasion. As 
for coming to your house, it must be his last visit.” 

“ And you were mcJi friends ! ” pouted she. ‘‘ But 
I don’t care two pins for him, and I think it annoys 
him so to see us together. You are just a little, a 


TERRIBLE TRUTH. 


299 


very little, hard, Flory. Confess, now, are you 
not ? ” 

“ 'Not hard enough for him,” the great man said 
savagely, “ there is so much of the devil in him.” 

Barbara was both curious and venturesome. 
What was the secret of their mutual dislike ? It 
was something more than mere jealousy, and she 
would like to know it. Until she found out the 
cause her intentions were to keep on terms with the 
Count. It would require caution and secrecy. 
What of that ? She was too clever to be caught by 
such a mass of dignity as her beloved Florian, who 
was unacquainted with short cuts in life’s path, 
would not take them if he were, and fancied his 
promised wife fashioned after his own ideas. 
Barbara and the Count became quite friendly once 
more on the understanding that he was to keep out 
of Florian’s way. Every art known to the fair 
widow was used to win from the Count the secret of 
his broken relations with Florian — which he never 
told, of course, but amused and revenged him- 
self instead by filling Barbara’s mind with wild 
longings for the title and grandeur to which Florian 
had so lately resigned the right. He made her be- 
lieve that these things could yet be obtained, and, 
by picturing the glories of the Kussian court, made 
the life of a senator’s wife in Washington appear 
by contrast tedious. The astute Barbara was caught 
fast in the trap, and from that moment Florian was 
beset with artifices and entreaties. A significant 
incident put a sudden end to her ambition. 

‘‘ Florian,” she said one day as her eagerness burst 
bounds, “do try to win your title. We were not 


300 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


made for this horrid, homespun American life. I 
shall just die thinking of what might have been, if 
you do not make the attempt at least.” 

He mistook her eagerness for satire and showed 
her a caseknife. 

“ Take that,” said he, “ and stab me to the heart. 
It is as well do it now as to wait for a Kussian spy 
to do it for you.” 

She looked at him and the knife for a few mo- 
ments until the meaning broke upon her mind and 
with it the full malice of the Count’s suggestions. 

“ Do you suppose, my dear,” he said, amused at 
her astonishment, “ that if there were a chance of 
obtaining my title and estates I would hesitate ? I 
got what was possible, and with that we must be 
satisfied. An American prince is an oddity. Let 
us enjoy what glory we may from it.” 

•‘Hard fortune, my prince,” she replied with a 
bitter sob. He was troubled no more with these 
longings. Barbara did not, however, give up her 
pleasant dealings with the Count. She enjoyed a 
petty revenge upon him by allowing him to continue 
his lectures on the glories of the Russian court, and 
in return described to him imaginary scenes with 
Florian in which the latter, for patriotic motives, 
utterly refused to leave America. It did not take 
the shrewd Russian long to discover that she was 
playing with him. Was he always to be the sport 
of this woman and the politician ? 

“ You are a clever inventor,” he said one evening, 
“ and I see that you have discovered me. You are 
bound to remain in politics, Yankee politics, when 
it lies in your power to enjoy the refined pleasures 


TERRIBLE TRUTH. 


301 


of a civilized court. There is no accounting for 
tastes.” 

“ Is Florian any the less a prince in America ? ” 
she asked. “ According to your doctrines his blood 
is as blue and his title as good as any in Europe. 
With that I am satisfied.” 

“Always Florian,” he said, unable to hide his 
fiery jealousy. “ If you should lose this manly par- 
agon, what then ? ” 

“ If I ” And she laughed in her exasperating way. 

“You are playing with fire, dear lady. You do 
not know me. I have not given you up. I never 
will. I can destroy him in a breath, and if you do 
not take care I %oill destroy him. My mother’s 
prayers have kept me from nothing so far, and I do 
not suppose they are yet more powerful.” 

“ You are charming. Count, when you talk and 
look like that. How many times have you made 
the same protestations ? ” 

“Believe me, never before. Barbara, Barbara, 
you are ” 

“ There, there. Count do not be unfair. I know 
all that you would tell me and sincerely believe it. 
Let us talk of something — well, interesting.” 

He ground his teeth in silence and asked himself 
how much longer he would be the scorn of this but- 
terfiy. 

“If the door opened now to admit your Flo- 
rian ” 

“ Always Florian,” she interrupted reproachfully. 

“ In what a position you would be after his com- 
mands to you concerning my visits 1 ” 

“ But he will not open the door, and if he did you 


302 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


would not be found here. The window, these cur- 
tains, your honor — what a number of happy circum- 
stances I trust to ! ’’ 

“ Pshaw ! what is the matter with me ? I have 
never allowed myself to be led by a string so with 
any woman. And my hand holding the winning 
card ! One word and Florian would look on you 
with horror. What is the matter with me that I do 
not utter it ? ” 

“ The matter with you. Count,” said she, looking 
at her watch to hide a faint apprehension, “ is that 
you have stayed too long. 'Now take yourself off 
while the door is open to you, or you may have to 
go by the window.” 

“One word, one little word,” said the Count, half 
to himself, “ and you are assured to me. 1 swear 
my belief that Florian would never wish to see your 
face again.” 

“ If you will not go,” she said, rising, with a . 
trembling voice, “I must leave you. You have 
always treated me with honor ” 

“ And I am bound so to treat you always,” he ex- 
claimed, at once jumping to his feet. “You shall 
not be compromised on my account, even to satisfy 
my hate for your lover. My time will come, and 
this hand which now I embrace — will you permit 

me ” He kissed her hand while she stood laugh- 

at his foolish devotion ; and this was the tableau 
which greeted the cold, steady gaze of Florian en- 
tering at that moment by the softly-opening door. 
There was an awkward pause. Barbara grew pale 
to the last degree of pallor, and the Count felt a 
thriJl of delight leap along his veins. The great 


TERKIBLE TRUTH. 


303 


man alone was equal to the occasion, for he strode 
into the room as if nothing had happened, and made 
his politest bow to the two guilty ones. The Count 
took his hat and retired towards the door until 
Florian detained him. 

“ You may leave here with a wrong impression of 
my relations to Mrs. Merrion,” he said, as blandly 
as was possible, “ which I wish to correct. I once 
presented her to you as my promised wife. It was 
a pleasantry which now merits explanation. The 
lady herself will assure you that henceforth she is 
less to me than to you or any other man.” 

The Count bowed with a sardonic smile, but Bar- 
bara rushed to Florian and threw both her arms 
about him amid a storm of sobs. 

“ He threatened you, Florian ! ” she cried. “ He 
said you were in his power. I did it for your sake. 
Oh ! do not be cruel, do not be hasty. A little 
time, my love — time, time, time.” 

Florian was staggered out of his stoical calm by 
this plausible explanation, and looked at the Count 
inquiringly. 

“ It is true,” said the latter proudly, “ and if you 
will come with me I can show you the truth of what 
Madame is pleased to assert of me.” 

“ I will go,” said Florian in a voice which made 
her heart quake. 

‘‘ Kemember, sir, that the truth will bring a heavy 
penalty on your head.” 

“ You must not go to-night, Florian,” she sobbed 
— “ oh 1 not to-night, my dearest. Wait until you 
are recollected. Appearances are against you and 
me, and this man is your sworn enemy.” 


804 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


He flung her oflF almost rudely. 

“ You are under suspicion also,” he said in that 
same awful voice, the voice of suppressed rage or 
fear. “ Be silent until I come again. IS^ot a word ! ” 

She fell back among her cushions as the door closed 
on the two men and their footsteps died gradually 
away. The two rivals in the affections of Barbara 
lost no time in reaching the luxurious quarters of 
the Count. Each raged with sincere hatred of the 
other, and each was sufficiently destitute of principle 
to use any means to compass the other’s destruction. 
The successful rival saw his success smirched and 
befouled by his jealous opponent. The Count could 
not forgive the deception practiced on him, and, 
thoroughly unscrupulous, had little pity for the de- 
ceiver. With courage and bitterness they sat down 
to their weighty conversation. The Count having 
the advantage, could afford to be slow and sarcastic. 

“ An odd change this,” he said, ‘‘ for us who were 
friends.” 

“Spare your sentiment,” Florian replied, “and 
come to the point. And let us understand each 
other. You said I was in your power, and you used 
that assertion to intrude yourself on my promised 
wife. I do not think the first true, and the second 
merits a punishment which you shall certainly re- 
ceive — on conditions.” 

“A capital phrase — on conditions,” sneered the 
Count. “ There are many conditions, then, why I 
shall never receive the merited punishment. First 
of all, Madame Merrion is clever. I never made use 
of any threats to induce her to receive me. She has 
permitted my visits, secretly, of course, since you 


TERRIBLE TRUTH. 


305 


forbade her the pleasure of my company. At my 
instigation she urged you to make an attempt to 
regain the title you lately sold. She does not care 
for me as she does for you, I know. You out of the 
way, I foresee what would happen. Of course I have 
left no means untried to put you out of the way. 
This interview is one of them. It is my trump card.’’ 

He looked into Florian’s set face with the old, 
gay, devilish look that the great man had often ad- 
mired. There was anything but admiration in his 
soul then. Even the Count awed a little under the 
intense purpose expressed in his frowning face. 

“ Your father is dead,” he said suddenly. ‘‘ I know 
that^ you see, and also who did it. Have you never 
suspected ? ” 

“ Your spy,” said Florian, with a shudder and a 
groan. 

“ He sent the bullet,” the Count said, ‘‘ obeying 
in that another’s will. But there were circumstances, 
remote and proximate, which led to the crime. I 
mean, have you never suspected them f ” 

“ Is that the secret of your power ? ” asked 
Florian, shading his face for an instant to hide its 
contortions of pain and horror. His voice was very 
low and quavering, almost pitiful. From that 
moment until the Count had finished speaking he 
uttered not a word. 

“ Ah ! you do suspect it,” said the Count wickedly, 
“ and you see I do not spare you. But you have not 
gone into the secret so deeply as I. You and I, my 
Florian, are a dangerous and bad pair. The prayers 
of your father and my mother have only made us 
worse, and it is lucky that our faces and Tvills ar^ 
?9 


306 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


set toward the — well, best not to mention it, 
perhaps.’’ 

Florian said nothing when he paused. He was 
listening like one in a terrible dream for the sole 
point of this discourse which concerned him. 

“ I will do you the honor of believing that had 
you foreseen the tragedy to spring from your man- 
ner of life for years past you would have changed it. 
I would not, I fear. Y ou might not, for your ambi- 
tion has always been strong enough to blind you to 
truth and right. Pardon me for moralizing, but I 
wish you to understand me fully. You are a man I 
have never trusted since I knew you, and never could 
trust you. Had you not dropped your faith ” — Flo- 
rian started as if struck — “ to become a politician it 
would have been different. W ith a man who has once 
been a firm Catholic it is dangerous to deal. You 
went looking for your father ; so did we. You were 
afraid to find him : we were also, or at least I was, 
for I foresaw his taking off. You were afraid his 
appearance would lose to you the title-sale money. 
The motives of each of us compare to the son’s dis- 
advantage, do they not ? ” 

It was of little use for Yladimir to fix his mocking 
eyes on the averted face. The great man, face to 
face with the specter which had so long stood at 
his side, had only its horrid features in his gaze. 

“Well, you begin to comprehend, my Florian; 
you begin to recognize your own soul in this mirror 
of mine. You were false to a son’s instincts because 
of your ambition ; you were false to a lover’s in- 
stincts because of your passion. What folly it was 
to expect you would be faithful to your friend when 


TERRIBLE TRUTH. 


307 


he stood in your way ! You fooled us all very cun- 
ningly — alas! only in the end to shame yourself. 
You left your princely father exposed to the bullet 
of the assassin when a little honesty and patience 
would have saved him. How could you suppose I, 
the libertine, the unprincipled one, would bear your 
insults in quiet? We continued to look for the 
father you deserted, and we found him. Your am- 
bition left him exposed to our fury. But I was merci- 
ful. I had no taste for blood, for the blood of an 
unfortunate, a countryman, a co-religionist, my 
friend’s father. I would have saved him but for 
you.” 

Again the great man started, and his face, hidden 
from the Count, was twisted shapeless from that in- 
ward agony. The Eussian’s face had assumed a 
stern, malignant expression as he bent his fierce eyes 
on his foe and sometime friend. The last words 
he uttered as one would thrust the knife into a man’s 
heart. 

“ I would have saved him but for you. You left 
the honored woman whom you had solemnly promised 
to marry, to deprive me of the one woman of my 
life — a woman far below your standard, hypocritical, 
but charming ; a woman to further your ambitions, 
but not to be the mother of Catholic children. As 
your desire for money exposed your father to danger, 
so your desire for this woman destroyed him. You 
remember that day which revealed to me your love 
for Barbara Merrion — a selfish, cruel love, doing no 
honor even to her. How you triumphed over me ! 
You sent me home mad 1 I shall never forget that 
day on which I sealed my own damnation, if there 


308 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


be damnation, because of you I The spy had found 
your father ! What shall I do with him ? he asked ; 
and I said, Kill him I ” 

There was still no need to look at Florian, now 
plunged into the depths of shame and agony. He 
uttered no moan even ! Outside there was a roll of 
carriage wheels, and presently the servant was knock- 
ing at the door with Paul’s card. The Count read 
it, and upon second thought declined to see the 
gentleman, but the poet was already in the room 
making his apologies. One look at Florian convinced 
him that he had come too late. 

“ There is no need for me to say anything, Count,” 
he explained, “ since I see you have done the mis- 
chief I wished to prevent.” 

The Kussian smiled, although he too was pale from 
emotion and triumph. He rejoiced in his success, in 
the humiliation of his rival, in the joy of once more 
possessing Barbara, even if it had been accomplished 
through a dreadful crime. Low as Florian was, he 
was yet a degree lower. He whispered his last accus- 
ing words in the great man’s ear with something 
like a laugh. 

“ The bullet of Mcholas slew your father, and I 

permitted it; but you — you ” He broke off 

abruptly and turned to Paul, his hateful feelings 
almost bursting from his worn, evil face, his fin- 
ger pointed at Florian. 

‘‘ Behold the murderer of his father ! ” he cried. 

Florian rose and his face came into the light. A 
dumb animal would have pitied its woe, and the poet 
gave a cry of anger and sorrow which the politician 
did not hear. He bowed mechanically to the two 


TERRIBLE TRUTH. 809 

and walked out gravely and steadily as a man 
proudly going to execution. 

“ If I were his friend, sir,” the poet said in his 
simple, truthful way, “ or had the slighest claim up- 
on him, I would feel happy in the right to punish 
you for what you have done.” 

“ Mr. Kossiter,” replied the Eussian courteously, 
“ I would be sorry if you had a claim. He deserves 
no pity. It wiU do him good, the knowledge which 
he has of himself. You wiU excuse me.” 

He offered his hand, which the poet did not take, 
and the look which he cast at the shapely member, 
as if he saw its bloody stain, brought an instant’s 
flush to the brazen cheek. Paul went out to his car- 
riage, and as he entered it he heard the gay voice of 
Yladimir humming a joyous tune. 


CHAPTEE XXIY. 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 

Eossiter’s presence in the Count’s chambers was 
the result of an hysteric appeal from Barbara, who 
fled to him in despair the moment the door closed on 
her angry lovers. It took some time to get the nec- 
essary explanations from her, and then Eossiter was 
only too eager to find the two rivals, before either 
could do mischief to the other. His failure did not 
at fir§t sight threaten serious consequences, until he 
had time to refiect on the details of the painful scene. 
He had never seen any human being so affected by 
horror as Florian had been. He grew apprehensive 
over it, and on his return, after dismissing the now 
quieted Barbara, communicated his apprehensions to 
Frances. 

“ I am troubled for his sake as well as yours,” he 
said, and the kindly words brought a smile to her 
lips. “ He has heard what I threatened to tell him, 
from no very gentle lips, and he looked when he 
left us as if his heart had been cruelly wrung. 1 
do not know if the truth will make him ill or bring 
him to his senses. It is better that he should know 
it perhaps. I shall watch him and keep guard over 
him for your sake and his father’s until any possible 
danger is passed.” 


310 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


811 


She thanked him gently. The poet climbed to 
his attic, sadly haunted by Florian’s despairing 
face. 

“ That time truth struck home,” said he to himself, 
“ and pretty sharply. If it does not drive him to 
any extreme it may have a healthy effect on him. 
But his eyes looked bad.” 

He did not like to utter the thoughts which trou- 
bled him. Florian’s mental balance was remarkable, 
but the events of a few months past were of a kind 
to shake the reason of strong souls. Keither Flo- 
rian nor Barbara was to be seen the next day nor 
the day after, nor the third day. The papers had a 
curious rumor then of a sudden departure for Europe 
of the accomplished Barbara and a well-known at- 
tache of the Kussian embassy, but Paul would not 
believe it until a perfumed note in Barbara’s hand- 
writing reached him. Every one seemed to make 
him their confidant. 

“ Dear Mr. Eossiter : 

“ Try to believe everything people say of me in the 
next two weeks. My word for it, it is all true. I 
was married to Count Behrenski this morning. He 
convinced me it was all over between me and Flo- 
rian, and it almost broke my heart to know it, but 
it did not cloud my senses to my own advantages. 
I am a Eussian, at all events. I wish you luck in 
your love-affair. Au revoir ! 

‘‘ Barbara, Countess Behrenski.” 

The news of Mrs. Merrion’s departure in the role 
of countess, after exciting the usual wonder of the 


312 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


town, settled out of sight. It did not reflect on Flo- 
rian, whose broken engagement to the widow was 
not known ; and still it would have mattered little 
to him, under present circumstances, if that disgrace 
had been flung upon him. He was not to be found 
in his oflice or in his boarding-house, but, with his 
usual careful foresight, he had left written instruc- 
tions for his clerk, without hinting at any date of 
return. Paul grew more and more uneasy when a 
week had passed and there was no news of him. 
Frances, with her wistful eyes and a dread in her face 
which he alone understood, came to him daily for in- 
formation. That he could not give it frightened 
both, and vainly the poet cudgeled his brains to dis- 
cover some clue to Florian’s motives for suddenly 
disappearing. Had he gone to the island ? What 
could bring him there in the dreary days of March ? 
If he were repentant 

“ There, that will do,” said the poet ; “ that’s not 
a sensible thought, and I don’t know as I’ve had any 
sensible thoughts about this whole matter. I think 
I’ll turn to the unexpected for a change.” 

“ What can we do ? ” was Frances’ daily cry. 

“ I can go to Clayburgh,” he said, almost with a 
blush. “ I have a silly idea that perhaps a great 
misfortune has made him penitent, and he has gone 
to do penance over his father’s grave.” 

‘‘ That is it,” said Frances eagerly. “ I knew it 
would come to that. Mercy is not beyond him, 
Paul. Oh ! go, like his good angel.” 

“ I feel it is a nonsensical thing to do,” said he, 
‘‘ but I suppose it must be done. And if I find him, 
and everything should be favorable, what could we 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


318 


say to him about — well, your mother and father, for 
instance ? ’’ 

He examined the paper on the wall attentively, 
while she looked at him with a puzzled face. 

“ If he is safe, that is enough,” she answered 
simply. 

“ Well, let it go,” said Paul, smiling. ‘‘ He doesn’t 
care very much for any of us, I fear, much as we are 
interested in him. And, Frank, as long as you live 
let no one know that I made myself such a goose for 
your sake and his father’s.” 

Eossiter slipped into Clayburgh without exciting 
attention. He found a close-mouthed fisherman 
after a few minutes’ search, Avho for a reasonable sum 
agreed not only to take him to Solitary Island, but 
also to keep his mouth shut about it until eternity, 
and the journey was made in successful secrecy. 
Arrived at a spot overlooking the well-known cabin, 
Paul dismissed his guide and crossed the ice on foot 
to the opposite shore. It was now midnight. The 
lonely island lay three feet beneath the snow, singu- 
larly tranquil under the dim stars. A faint wind 
added to the gentle loneliness, and, stirring the trees 
on the hill, brought Paul’s eyes to the grave beneath 
them. Ho light or sign of human presence any- 
where ! Ho tracks in the snow save his own until 
he reached the cabin-door ; there began a pathway 
which led down the slope and up the opposite hill to 
the grave — the path marked out by the funeral pro- 
cession ! Even while he looked a figure came stagger- 
ing from the grave along the path to where he stood, 
a figure stooped, uncertain in its gait, moaning, and 
stopping rarely to swing its arms upwards in potent 


314 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


despair. Paul trembled with dread, and the tears 
sprang to his eyes. Was he to find the mental 
wreck he had once pictured ? Florian gave no sign 
of surprise when he saw him, but adopted at once 
his usual reserve. He was not insane. 

“ You here ? ’’ he said calmly, but the voice 
quavered. “ I believe you were there that night, 
and I remember you said you had a message for me. 
Will you come in if you care to ? ” 

A cheerful fire burned in the hearth of the single 
room and the tallow candle showed Izaak Walton 
in his usual place, with every other circumstance of 
the room undisturbed. Paul said nothing until he 
had scanned his old friend keenly. The great man 
sat down before the fire placidly and submitted to 
the inspection with an indifference so like his father’s 
own that Paul drew a breath of delight. In ten 
days he had changed wofully. His clothes hung 
upon shrunken limbs, and his face was wasted. 
Hollow cheeks, hollow, burning eyes, and wide 
nostrils ! The hand which rested on the favorite 
book showed its cords and veins, the shoulders were 
rounded, and his whole attitude one of physical 
exhaustion. The tears again sprang to the poet’s 
eyes. Here was a penitent surely, and there was 
something boyish or childish about him that ap- 
pealed to the heart wonderfully, as if misfortune 
had stripped him of all the years since boyhood, and 
all his honors. 

“ I have a message for you,” the poet said, “ but, 
with your permission. I’ll put it off till to-morrow. 
I am going to remain here for to-night with your 
permission also.” 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


315 


“Oh! certainly,” Florian replied, in the same 
uncertain voice ; “ there is a good room yonder 
where he slept. You can have the bed. Have you 
had supper ? ” 

“I would like something to eat,” the poet said 
out of curiosity. Florian took down a loaf of bread 
from the cupboard, poured some water into a cup, 
and sat down again without any apology for the 
scanty fare — just as his father would have done. 
Paul ate a slice or two of the bread and drank the 
water, while a pleasant silence held the room. He 
did not know how to open a conversation. 

“ This was his favorite book,” said he, touching 
Izaak Walton tenderly, “I remember often to have 
seen him reading it in this room.” 

“ Yes,” said Florian, with interest, “ and it is one 
of my memories of him. I was very unfortunate in 
not knowing more of him. The world fooled me 
out of that treasure — and of many another,” he 
added partly to himself. Paul was surprised more 
and more. This pleasant, natural manner of speak- 
ing offered an odd contrast to his woebegone looks. 
It was something like the Florian of years past. He 
deliberated whether it would not be better to defer 
his communication until he understood his motives 
better. 

“ I came from Hew York to-night,” he ventured 
to say. “ I was anxious about you, and so were 
others.” 

“ There was no need to be anxious,” said Florian 
cheerfully. “ I am quite happy here. It is a pleas- 
ant residence winter and summer. I shall never 
regret the city, which will certainly not regret me.” 


316 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“You may not have heard of Mrs. Merrion,” 
Paul remarked helplessly, so astounded was he by 
the last remark. 

“ No,” said the other without curiosity. “ Some 
scandal connected with a Count Behrenski, prob- 
ably.” 

“ No. She married him and went to Europe last 
week quietly.” And after that the poet said no 
more, for he was in a maze and knew not what to 
think or do. 

“ I shall retire now, with your permission, Florian,” 
he said finally, using the old familiar name. “ I 
hope I am not troubling you too much or driving 
you from your own bed.” 

“Not at all, Rossiter, not at all. I never sleep 
there. Good-night ; and if you should not find me 
in the morning have no uneasiness. I shall turn up 
again assuredly.” 

Paul fell asleep without settling the vexed ques- 
tions which Florian’s odd manner and words sug. 
gested. The great man, left to himself, behaved in 
a simple matter-of-fact fashion at once pathetic and 
amusing. He snuffed the candle with a face as ear- 
nest as if snuffing candles was the one duty of his life, 
put away the remnants of Paul’s supper carefully 
after washing the cup and drying it neatly, stirred the 
fire, opened much-handled Izaak, and settled him- 
self for a quiet hour’s reading. Ten days had fixed 
him in the Solitary’s groove as firmly as if he had 
been in it for years. On the night of Yladimir’s 
revelation he had driven to his own apartments in a 
state of mind not to be described. He had long 
suspected his own share in his father’s death, but 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


817 


the lurid color in which Yladimir painted his guilt 
was a fearful shock to him. He fled from the Count 
in a sort of daze which his firm will could not dispel, 
and it seemed to him that madness or delirium was 
prevented only by the persistency with which he 
beat off the tumultuous thoughts that crowded upon 
him. His self-possession was entirely gone. The 
life which he had led, the ambitions which he had 
cherished, the woman whom he had loved, all cir- 
cumstances connected with his father’s death, filled 
him with wild horror when he recalled them. He 
could not think of anything with method. He could 
only feel, and his feelings threatened to drive him 
into insanity, so sharp, so bitter were they, so con- 
fused yet active. 

, It was instinct more than reason which sent him 
to Solitary Island. It was a mechanical effort of 
the will which produced the instructions for his 
clerk ; but once on the journey, with people moving 
about him, and scene after scene bringing peace to 
his distracted mind, Florian was able to cry like a 
child hour by hour of his sorrowful flight. He 
scarcely knew why he wept, unless to ease the bur- 
den pressing upon his heart, which seemed to flow 
away with his tears. Like Paul, he reached Clay- 
burgh in the night, and unseen fled away on foot 
across the ice over the well-known course which he 
and Ruth and Linda had often taken in the yacht ; 
past Round Island with a single light for the ice- 
waste, leaving Grindstone to the left as he ran along 
the narrow strait with two islands rising on each 
side of him like the walls of a coffin ; through the 
woods to the spot overlooking the old cabin ; across 


318 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


the bay and up the slope to the lonely grave on the 
summit, where he cast himself with a long, sad cry 
of grief and despair. 

Five days passed before anything like calm and 
systematic thought returned to him. One idea stood 
before him like an inhabitant of the island, with a 
personality of its own — the words of the Count: 
“ Behold the murderer of his father ! ” He muttered 
the accusing words many times in the day and night, 
sitting on the grave, regardless of the cold and whis- 
pering them to himself ; weeping, sobbing, raving, 
moaning, silent by times, as the fit took him ; never 
sleeping two hours at a time ; haunted always by a 
dreadful fear of divine or human vengeance. Phan- 
toms of past incidents and people were floating 
around him sleeping and waking, causing him con- 
stant alarm. Even the sweet face of Linda frowned 
upon him, and that was hardest of all to bear. At 
the close of the fifth day his delirium suddenly left 
him and he enjoyed a long and refreshing sleep. 
When he woke the hideous nightmare of sorrow and 
remorse and dread had vanished. He was himself 
again, but not the self which had flitted from Hew 
York to hide its anguish in the icy solitude. ■ There 
was another Florian born of that long travail, and a 
better Florian than the world had yet known. 

He was not aware of any change. He had lost 
his habit of self-consciousness, and he was to become 
aware of what was working within him only when 
others pointed it out to him. Kneeling in the snow 
at the foot of the grave, he said his morning prayers, 
promising the father of his love that never again 
would he have occasion to grieve for him, and that 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


319 


what man could do to atone for murder he, with the 
help of God, would do. His breakfast he made on 
fresh fish and meal found in the larder, traveling 
many miles that day in the snow to obtain fiour and 
meal and necessaries at a distant village. He was 
very weak, but it troubled him not at all. He had 
no regard for his own sufferings, so firmly were his 
eyes fixed on the martyrdom his father endured for 
his sake. Every available moment found him at the 
grave in deep thought or prayer. The priest of an 
obscure village heard with wonder his strange con- 
fession of ten years of life, marveling what manner 
of man this man could be ; and his Communion was 
simple and fervent, as became a penitent. Thus be- 
gan the eighth day, and at its close he was sitting 
calmly before the log-fire in the kitchen, and Izaak 
Walton was in his hands. 

What was he going to do ? His period of uncon- 
trolled grief was over and his long penance begun. 
Where was it to end ? He had many injuries to re- 
pair — his scandalous life, his rejection of Frances, 
his treatment of all his friends. Hot for one mo- 
ment did he think of returning to the city or to pub- 
lic life. He saw clearly the precipice from which 
Providence, by means of great misfortunes, had 
snatched him. He had entered the great city a pure- 
hearted boy to whom sin was almost unknown, whose 
one desire was to preserve the faith, in spirit and in 
word, incorrupt in himself. How gradually and how 
surely he fell ! Careless intercourse with all sorts of 
people and the careless reading of all sorts of books, 
with the adoption of all sorts of theories and ideas, 
brought upon him an intellectual sensuality only too 


320 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


common and too little noticed in the world. Then 
came the loose thought and the loose glance and the 
loose word, the more than indifferent companions, 
the dangerous witticism, the state which weakened 
faith and practice, and prepared the soul for its 
plunge into the mud. Thank God ! he had escaped 
the mud, at least. But who had saved him ? And 
was he to go back to it all? ‘‘There are some men 
whom politics will damn.” Wise words for him, at 
whom they seemed to point. What was he to do ? 
He thought over it that night and the next morn- 
ing. His resolution formed itself slowly ; finally it 
was made. He would take his father’s place on the 
island, and remain there until death released him 
from his penance. Was it a hard thing to do ? IN’o, 
he said, not with the graves of father and sister so 
near him. And thus was he situated when Paul 
found him. 

The poet made his morning meal in silence and 
constraint. It reminded him forcibly of many meals 
he had eaten in the same room while sharing the 
hermit’s hospitality. The circumstances were little 
changed. Although the day was cold, the sun 
shone through the red-curtained window with a 
summer brightness, the log-fire glowed in the hearth, 
the savory smell of broiled fish pervaded the little 
room, and Plorian, a wonderful likeness of his father, 
sat eating sparingly, silent but not gloomy, save for 
the sad shadows occasionally flitting over his face. 
The contrast between the placid manner and the 
feverish countenance was odd, but not so forcible 
as the difference between this silent man and the 
ambitious politician. Paul gave up speculation as 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


321 


a hopeless task, and rightly judging his present 
temper, plunged abruptly into the matter of his 
visit. 

“ You may be aware of the circumstances which 
led to my stay on Solitary Island,” said he for a 
beginning. Florian regarded him placidly, without 
a trace of the old feeling in his looks. Paul thought 
it pretense ; but it was real. The great man had no 
feeling towards him. 

“ I am not aware of them,” he replied. 

“ Strangely enough, our resemblance was the cause 
of it,” said Paul. “ The spy, who pursued you be- 
cause of your resemblance to your own family, pur- 
sued me for the same reason, drove me out of all 
employment and, with the aid of injudicious friends, 
brought me to the verge of poverty and death. Y our 
father saved me, and, for reasons quite plain to us 
both, took me in and earned my everlasting gratitude 
for himself and his son.” 

A faint flush spread over Florian^s face in the 
pause that followed. 

“I must ask your pardon,” he said humbly, “for 
my guilty share in your sufferings. I was your 
friend, and I should have aided you ; but I was 
led to believe you stood between me and Euth, and 
again between me and Frances Lynch. I was glad 
you suffered. I regret it sincerely now. I trust 
you will forgive me.” 

It was the poet’s turn to blush at this humility. 

“ Don’t mention it,” said he. “ Peter Carter was 
the cause of all these trou bles. Y ou are not to blame. 
I am not sorry for them. They brought me in con- 
tact with your father.” 

21 


322 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


‘‘ And I hated you for that,” Florian went on 
the same tone, “ because your worthiness won a privi- 
lege which my crimes deprived me of. I spoke to 
you once under that impression in a manner most 
insulting. I ask ” 

“ Hold on ! ” said Paul, jumping to his feet with 
a red face. “Ho more of that, Florian. I cannot 
stand it. If you are really sincere in this change 
that has come over you keep your apologies for 
Frances and others. But I do not understand it. I 
expected something like this, but not so complete 
and astounding a revolution.” 

Florian offered no remonstrance to this blunt sus- 
picion, but after a little pointed out to the grave 
with such a look in his face ! then back to himself. 

“ ‘ Behold the murderer of his father,’ ” he said in 
a sudden burst of sobs, as he repeated the Count’s 
telling words. “ If I could apologize to him as I 
do to you, as I shall do to all the others. Alas ! 
what humiliation is there greater than that ? ” 

“ He’s on the right track,” said the satisfied poet, 
wiping his eyes in sympathy and thinking joyfully 
of Frances. 

“ It’s all cleared up between us, then, Flory,” said 
he cheerfully, as he clasped the great man’s hand. 
“My business is made the easier for that, and it 
will send me back to Hew York with a light heart. 
Come, I have some spots of interest to show you 
about the old house. Your father loved me, Flory. 
How proud I am of that honor ! But, ah ! not 
as he loved you, his son. I was his confidant in 
many things, and I have the secret of his life and 
the explanation of its oddities. Flory, your father 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


323 


was a saint, of princely soul as well as princely 
birth.” 

He lifted a trap-door in the floor of the bedroom, 
and led the way, holding a lighted candle, into the 
cellar. 

“ It is not a cellar,” he explained, flashing the 
light on the rocky walls, “ but a cave. Here is a 
door concealed in the rock very nicely. We open it 
so. How enter and here we are.” 

They could hear the sound of running water in the 
cave, but Florian paid it no attention. His eyes 
were fastened on the new discovery. A set of rude 
shelves took up one whole side of an almost square 
room, and was thickly crowded with books. The 
general character was devotional and mystical, but 
the classics were well represented, and astronomy 
and philosophy had the choicest volumes. A rough 
desk below contained a wooden carved cruciflx, a 
few bits of manuscript, and writing materials. From 
a peg in its side hung a leather discipline, whose 
thongs were tipped with fine iron points. A few 
sacred prints hung on the walls. Florian knelt and 
kissed first the crucifix and then the discipline. 

“ This spot,” said Paul reverently, “ is a secret to 
all save you and me. When I first came here, 
broken down and disheartened — it seems a beautiful 
and fit sanctuary for the disheartened— I was sin- 
cerely disposed to lean more heavily on God for the 
support I needed. After a little the prince took me 
into his confidence, and I beheld such a sight ” — the 
tears of emotion poured from his eyes — ‘‘ as I had 
never dreamed of seeing this side of heaven. Long 
meditations and prayers, mortifications such as that 


324 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


discipline hints at, unbounded charity for all men, 
are virtues common to all the saints. They did not 
impress me as did the glimpses of his soul which I 
received. Ah ! such an overpowering love of God. 
It seemed to burn within him like a real flame and 
to illuminate the space about him as does this candle. 
I would have feared him but for the love and strength 
these very qualities gave me. I knelt here with him 
often, and when I was strong enough tried to stay 
by him in his vigils. I know the angels often came 
to him visibly. I saw wonders here and dreamed 
real dreams. And no one knew it save myself. 
Who would have believed it had they not seen what 
I saw ? ” 

‘‘ Blind, blind, blind ! ” murmured Florian. “We 
all caught glimpses of his glory, but my love was 
not as sharp as hate, and my soul too low to look 
for such a manifestation of grace. My sin is all the 
greater.” 

“ The last time I saw him,” continued Paul, “ was 
in this spot, kneeling where you are kneeling. He 
had a premonition of his coming passion, but it was 
lightened by the conviction — perhaps it had been 
revealed to him — that out of it would come your 
salvation. ‘ Tell my son,’ he said, ‘ that I died be- 
cause of him.’ ” 

“ ‘ Behold the murderer of his father,’ Florian mur- 
mured to himself. 

“ ‘ Tell him also not to despair, but with a good 
heart, and without haste or great grief for anything 
save for his sins, to begin his penance.’ You see he 
knew ; and when I asked him if he were about to die, 
‘ God holds all our days,’ said he, ‘ who knows but 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 325 

this may be our last ? ’ I never saw him again in life. 
God rest his soul, if it has suffered any delay ! ” 
There was again a short pause as Paul waited to 
review that last scene and to recall the tones, the 
feelings, the incidents of a most pathetic moment. 
Florian still knelt at the desk with his fingers about 
the discipline. 

“Well, it is all over,” he said to the kneeling 
figure ; “ let us go. You notice the dry air of the 
cave. It is beautifully ventilated and very safe for 
such a place. Your father loved it. Come, my 
friend. Or do you wish to remain here ? ” 

Florian rose and they returned to the room above. 
“ I have finished my work — almost,” said the poet, 
putting on his hat, “ and now I am going. Can I be 
of any help to you ? ” 

“ My father’s friend and mine,” Florian replied, 
“ I have need only for your pardon and the renewal 
of that affection you once had for me.” 

“ And never lost, Florian. You have it still, and 
the pardon which is always yours beforehand. After 
a little you will return to ^Mew York? ” 

“ Yes, after a little,” he replied slowly, “ but not 
to remain. Here is my home in the future. I have 
my business to close up and a great act of justice to 
perform. After that my solitude.” 

It was on the poet’s lips to dissuade him from so 
extravagant a course, but he thought better of it and 
said nothing, preferring to leave so delicate and 
dangerous a matter to time and the good providence 
of God. Florian walked out with him as far as the 
opposite shore, a smile of joy lighting up oddly the 
sad lines of his face. He seemed, however, singu- 


326 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


larly destitute of the power of self-reflection. His 
thoughts were ever fixed on what he had seen and 
heard of his father, without much attention to their 
effect on himself. He was smiling, not for joy, but 
in obedience to some hidden impulse which he did 
not think of analyzing. 

“Why do you look so pleased?” said the poet 
to him. 

“ Do I look pleased ? ” he asked, with a puzzled 
expression which silenced the poet. They parted at 
the entrance to the woods. 

“ Until I see you again,” said the poet, clasping 
his hand. 

That was a miserable day for Kuth Pendleton 
which witnessed the vulgar outbursts of Barbara 
Merrion and showed to her the real character of the 
woman in whom she had confided. There was noth- 
ing to prevent her telling Kuth’s story to the whole 
world ; and in her heart there was the dread of its 
reaching Paul’s ears, as it must if he remained long 
in the town, or if Barbara encountered him. She was 
compelled to believe that Paul thought no more of 
her than of any other woman, in spite of Barbara’s 
gossip. His manner had always been cordial, re- 
spectful, and distant. He had never sought her out, 
and he so near ; had never presumed to any of a 
lover’s familiarity ; had always been as distant as a 
polite acquaintance could be, and talked of Hew 
York and his visit to her convent as common things, 
which they were not to her. Was the bit of Bristol- 
board a fancy then ? She looked at it many times 
a day. How it would amuse him when Barbara re- 
lated its history ! Her cheeks burned at the thought 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 327 

of the humiliation. The Squire assured her that he 
had arranged it with Barbara nicely. 

Kuth was fain to be satisfied, but could not trust 
Barbara until she heard that Paul had also departed 
from Clay burgh. It was a delicate and thoughtful 
act on the poePs part, and well deserved its intended 
effect. Puth rejoiced over it from one point of view. 
It was hardly probable that he had met Barbara. If 
so, and she had told him, there was no dread of 
meeting him again in this world. Her dream faded 
into the chill reality of day. Kesignation was Kuth’s 
stronghold, and she bore this sorrow as sweetly as 
she had borne many others in her placid life. The 
winter wore away, until blustering March began to 
hint at the warmth of spring. Then walking out 
one day she met at the postoffice Paul, hearty and 
loud from a consciousness of the happiness to come. 
It was : 

“ Miss Pendleton, are you not glad to see an old 
face to-day ? ” and “ Mr. Kossiter, this is an unex- 
pected pleasure,” with bows and tremblings and 
heart-beats innumerable, and many inquiries about 
nothing at all, until Paul said : 

“You may wonder at my return in this rough 
season, but I come on a matter that concerns us 
both.” 

“ Had you not better wait ? ” she said politely, 
glancing around while inwardly she grew hot and 
cold from shame. 

“ I merely wished to give you a hint,” he said, “ of 
what you are to expect.” Knowing the double 
meaning in his words he watched her confusion with 
secret delight. “ The island has another solitary.” 


328 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


She cast a startled look at him. 

“ Florian has come back a penitent, thrown up the 
world and its honors, and proposes to live and die, 
as did his father, in the obscurity of that island.’’ 

“ I am dazed,” she replied ; “ I cannot understand 
such things.” 

“ They are as true as they seem. Miss Pendleton. 
This evening I shall explain them. Florian is on 
the island, has been there for ten days, and Mrs. 
Merrion has married a Kussian count and gone to 
Europe. You are still more surprised. Let me say 
good-day to you, and do me the honor of being at 
home this evening.” 

Kuth was again deceived. This visit concerned 
only Florian, she thought, and consequently there 
was no reason why she should fear that Barbara had 
exposed her. That night when Kossiter called talk 
drifted into the usual channels. Paul related the 
circumstances which had led to Florian’s flight to 
the island, and gave Euth a description of his ex- 
perience with the penitent that morning. 

“ It is a wreck you have seen, not Florian,” she 
said, with the tears in her eyes ; “ but out of it the 
old Florian will come back to us. Thank God ! I 
hope Linda and the prince know this day of joy.” 

“ It is quite impossible,” said Paul, ‘‘ that he should 
take up the life his father led. Yet it fits him 
wonderfully ; and to see him you would think the 
prince was revived.” 

“ We shall leave Pere Eougevin to settle his future. 
He will make it easy for him to resume the old life 
without violence to the grace which he has received. 
I shall make bold to visit him to-morrow.” 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


329 


“ I shall have the honor of accompanying you,” 
said Paul, “ if you have no objections. I am going 
to the Island myself. My two reasons for coming 
here were — I wished to make certain of what had 
happened to Florian for the sake of Frances.” 

“ Poor girl ! ” said Puth, she will be his salvation 
yet.” 

“ Indeed she will. Miss Pendleton. I believe his 
heart turns that way still. No great heart like his 
could ever find content in such a creature as Mrs. 
Merrion. And my other reason was to remove any 
misunderstanding between you and me.” 

“ Misunderstanding ! ” said Kuth, greatly sur- 
prised. 

“ I have loved you a long time. Miss Pendleton — 
fully eight years. I have tried to keep it a secret, 
to bury it forever from your knowledge, and yet I 
could not. I could not leave you without having 
spoken. God knows if I might not have made a 
mistake in so doing ! It would be an eternal regret 
to me, and so I wish to know from your own lips, 
Kuth, if I must part from you forever. It rests 
with you to give me the greatest happiness or the 
greatest sorrow of my life.” 

“ I shall be compelled to give you ” She hesi- 

tated, for her emotion was strong, and she dreaded 
an exhibition of tears. Paul trembled in spite of 
his confidence in Barbara’s story. 

“I shall be compelled to give you,” said Ruth 
calmly, after a time, “ what you call the greatest 
happiness of your life.” And she laid her hand in 
his for an instant while their eyes met and exchanged 
the thoughts too true and sweet for expression. His 


330 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


face was radiant, and he made no demur when she 
begged to be excused and withdrew to her own 
room. God had been very good to her. In the 
very moment of her resignation to His will He had 
honored and blessed her beyond belief. The Squire’s 
heart fell when Paul made a formal demand upon 
him for his daughter. 

“ I had thought Kuth’s idea of marrying was 
over,” said the Squire sadly ; ‘‘ but, if you’ve made 
it up between you, 1 have only to say yes.” 

Florian easily guessed the relation existing be- 
tween the two who visited him the next day. Kuth’s 
manner was always so clearly marked in its modesty 
and reserve that her intimates might soon discover 
any variation in it. The new hermit accepted the 
position quietly and without so much as a single 
reflection on what might have been. He did not 
look for any surprise on the part of those who came 
to see him, nor did Ruth manifest any. It was as if 
he had been there ten years. Paul gave them an 
opportunity to talk alone. 

“ I congratulate you,” said Florian gravely, “ on 
your present happiness. You are every way deserv- 
ing of it.” 

“ And I congratulate you on yours,” said Ruth. 
“ Our island seems destined to have a tenant al- 
ways.” 

She would have wept, had she been alone, at his 
sadly altered appearance, stooped, pale, hollow-eyed, 
and the firm lips quivering. But better that way 
and dearer to God than in the pride of his physical 
strength and political glory. 

“Yes, this is a place for happiness,” he said, look- 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


331 


ing around the homely room. ‘‘It healed my 
father’s heart ” 

“ And it will heal yours,” she added for him as he 
left the thought on his lips unexpressed. He smiled 
as if she had reproved him. 

“ I hope so. You have not known all my wicked- 
ness, Ruth. I deserted Frances ” 

“ I know it all, Florian. Do not distress yourself 
with recounting it. Your reparation will be all the 
sweeter to her, poor girl.” 

“ How can I make it ? ” he said humbly. “ I have 
put a shame upon her which only marriage can take 
away ; yet I could not ask her after the wrong I 
have done.” 

“ Do not think about it at all,” said Ruth with 
emphasis. “ Go to her, tell her your sorrow and 
your resolutions. Her love will find a way through 
difficulties. Linda would rejoice to see this hour,” 
she added. “ Florian, what a time it has all been I 
What a treasure we missed finding ! I cannot forgive 
myself for not knowing in time.” 

“I came near missing it altogether,” he said in 
turn. “ I was but little disturbed at his discovery 
and death. What a fate is mine ! Had I remained 
in Clayburgh he would have made himself known 
to me. Had I even been faithful to God while in 
the world he would have granted me the favor. 
Had I tried to discover him, and not feared it, I 
would have found him. Had I been faithful to 
Frances he would not have died. My ambition, 
avarice, disloyalty to the faith, and desertion of my 
promised wife have been paid for by the fact that I 
am his murderer. I would never have known my 


332 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


dreadful share in his death had I responded to the feel- 
ings which decency and grace prompted in me when 
I was last on the island after his death. But no ; I 
went back to evil and thus was I turned from it. 
May God and my saintly father help me ; but indeed, 
Ruth, I am a most miserable man ! ” 

His cheeks flushed while he was speaking, and 
Ruth’s tears fell slowly. It was his second outburst 
of feeling in mortal presence since the night his 
crime was fixed upon him. He bowed his head upon 
the table and wept in silence. 

“ Thank God, as I do, for these tears,” she said. 
“ Yours is a strong nature, Florian, and once turned 
from the right it would require just such means to 
bring you back. I am not sorry for your sins, 
since I see your repentance. Your father cannot 
regret his sad ending, nor your share in it, when he 
sees your tears falling into the hand of God. O 
Florian ! be of good heart ; ail your sins are forgiven 
you.” 

It was a haggard face that he presented on rising. 

“ I know they are forgiven. I am very fortunate. 
Pardon me for intruding these things on you. It is 
not a day for tears.” 

The sun was shining maliciously on the helpless 
snow, whose white fingers clung in vain to the 
spruce trees and the rocks, and with much weeping 
lost their hold and fell out of sight. Patches of gold 
color lay along the ice, and big shadows stole around 
the islands, retreating from the sun. The air and 
earth sparkled. A soft wind blew from the south in 
gusts and filled the narrow channels with music. It 
was not a day for tears, as Florian had said, but the 


THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


333 


sight of that lonely grave upon the hill was ever in his 
eyes and the beauty of the world lay under its shadow. 
For him the sun rose and set behind it, and beyond it 
he saw heaven and hell, the eternal truths of religion, 
and the path that led to heaven. He could not but 
be a little gloomy, and the presence of men aug- 
mented the gloom. His friends parted from him with 
many kind wishes and hopes for the future. Like 
his father, he said nothing and watched them until 
they were out of sight. What was he thinking of ? 
The poet thought it might be of the days when the 
rights now exercised by another over Euth belonged 
to him. The poet was wrong. Florian was won- 
dering if his repentance would bring him the peace 
of heart which attached to the former hermit of 
Solitary Island! 


CHAPTEE XXV. 


REPARATION. 

The oldest inhabitant of Clayburgh, mindful of 
that day, years back, when Florian had received a 
public reception from his townsmen, and particularly 
moved by the physical and moral grandeur of the 
man at the time, had he seen the figure which one 
lone April day walked to the depot, would have been 
overcome with resentment and shame. Still pale 
and emaciated, stooped and shambling in his walk, 
as plainly clothed as a workman, Florian proceeded 
through the streets of the town as calmly as if it was 
a custom with him so to do. People stared at the 
stranger and wondered at his likeness to “ their boy,” 
speculated as to who he might be, and were mystified 
when no one knew him. Florian was more than 
disguised. It was another person who walked the 
streets that day on his pilgrimage of reparation. 

He took the morning train for Xew York, buying 
his ticket with the Squire’s startled eyes fixed on him 
fearfully. Was this a ghost? the Squire asked him- 
self. He did not venture to address the figure, and 
Florian did not observe him, while the more he looked 
at the undressed beard and the lean form the less 
resemblance could he see to his famous boy. The 
eyes of Xew Yorkers were not so easily deceived. 
Passing through the streets to his long-deserted office. 


REPARATION. 


335 


he met a few acquaintances, and all recognized him, 
offered him their sympathy for the illness of which 
they had heard nothing, and wondered at the odd 
manner in which he accepted their condolences. 
Just then he was a political cipher and was not 
troubled with the presence of old adherents. A 
paragraph in the paper announced his return to the 
metropolis, and brought fear and trepidation into the 
De Ponsonby household, but in no other circle did it 
create any excitement. No one had any idea that 
Florian would visit the boarding-house soon after his 
arrival in the city, and Paul was counting on that 
supposition to get madame into a reasonable frame 
of mind. All were surprised when the servant one 
day laid Florian’s card in the mistress’ hand, and they 
heard his name. 

“ Send him up,” said madame, promptly, while 
Paul rose to go. “No,” she continued, “you may 
remain. This matter is as public as was his engage- 
ment. I wish it to be so.” 

The poet sat down disturbed in mind. Frances 
was in a state of agony utterly beyond her will to 
control, but madame never once alluded by word or 
look to her nervous manner. It was a formidable 
court before which the penitent presented himself. 
Yet Florian entered as indifferently as if he were in 
the lonely island cabin, and, after saluting the three 
gravely and politely, sat down. His appearance 
astonished madame greatly, and drew a quickly 
smothered sob from Frances, but all signs of emotion 
were presently buried in a dead calm, which grated 
upon Paul’s nerves like saw-sharpening. He was 
bound by circumstances, and could say nothing and 


336 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


do nothing to alter the condition of affairs. The 
battle lay between madame and true love. If Flo- 
rian suffered from any emotion it Avas visible only in 
the long interval Avhich followed his entrance before 
speaking. Like a true and determined enemy, 
madame said not a single word while Avaiting for 
the parley to begin, until Paul in his hard indigna- 
tion felt that a battery would not be too much to 
bring to bear on this feminine obstructor to the nat- 
ural course of penitence and love. 

“ I have done you and your daughter a great 
wrong,” Florian said with simple directness, “ and I 
thank you for giving me this opportunity to express 
my sorroAV and ask your pardon. I deserted Miss 
Lynch for another far beneath her in real worth. It 
was a heartless act, but at that time I found such 
acts of mine easily justified. My eyes were opened. 
I have no words to express my sorrow for what I 
have done. I hope you will forgive me.” 

“ You were forgiven at that time,” said madame 
gently — so gently that Paul’s heart leaped with 
hope. 

“ I owe it to you to say,” continued Florian, bow- 
ing, “that my feelings towards Miss Lynch have 
never changed. They have only been obscured. I 
believe sincerely that at one time these feelings your 
daughter returned. Although she released me from 
the engagement, I do not think she lost those rights 
on me which it gave her. I am glad to make the 
poor restitution of renewing the offer which I once 
had the honor to make to her. I do it fully con- 
scious of my own unworthiness. I beg of you not 
to misunderstand my motives.” 


REPARATION. 


337 


Madame never hesitated in her reply, although 
while Florian was speaking she had caught the peti- 
tions of three appealing faces, the third being now 
visible through the half-open door, where Peter was 
listening, impatient and interested. 

“ I do not pretend to know your motives,’’ she said 
calmly, “ but your offer we reject for good reasons. 
It is quite impossible that my daughter should ever 
again consider marriage with you.” 

The face of Frances grew pale as death, but her 
lips were pressed tight in determination. Paul 
growled and Peter started forward, then drew back. 
Madame crushed these signs of rebellion by her proud 
and confident indifference. 

“ Perhaps it is best,” Florian said after a pause. 
He had received her answer without any surprise, 
as if he considered it a very proper thing. ‘‘ There 
have been many changes in my life which might not 
be agreeable to you. In no way am I the same as 
when I first had the honor of proposing for your 
daughter’s hand. I will never again be the same, I 
trust. I have done all that I know how to do in 
atoning for a great injury. You have forgiven me. 
It would be a great pleasure to know that in your 
opinion I have done all that is possible.” 

His wistful gaze and simple words disconcerted 
madame considerably. She was half-convinced that 
the man was acting, but his motives were hidden, 
nor could she discover them. There was no ade- 
quate motive to explain this masquerade. 

“You could not have done more,” she answered 
steadily in a tone that closed the interview. Florian 
rose and bowed his farewell. A rumor crept through 
22 


338 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


political circles in the metropolis that Florian was 
closing up his legal business on the point of retiring 
to a more congenial field of labor. It \v^as only a 
rumor, and before it could be verified the great poli- 
tician had utterly disappeared from the sight of 
men. A reporter was knocking his door out of shape 
for an interview at the very moment which saw him 
approaching Clayburgh on the evening train. Thus 
the world could always knock at the doors of his 
heart. Hever again would they open to any of its 
emissaries, and his joy had something fierce in it as 
he reflected that, God willing, he was entering Clay- 
burgh from the south for the last time. Behind 
him in the distance his burnt ships were smoulder- 
ing — his fame, his power, his Avealtb, his memory, his 
love! Men would nevermore see them in their 
proud beauty sail rough seas towards glorious har- 
bors! If they heard of him— and he prayed they 
would not — it would only be to hear of his conquests 
over himself ; and probably they would wink, and 
smile, and touch their foreheads knowingly to insin- 
uate his mental weakness, a fact which pleased him 
greatly and drew a smile from him, as showing how 
often the world mistook wisdom for folly. 

He jumped from the train before it reached the 
depot, and made his way across the fields to the 
river. It was now the first week of May and the 
ice was gone, but the chilly air blew sharply across 
the water, and the shore resounded under the 
breakers. He stood on the hill for a moment with 
his eyes fixed on Linda’s resting-place, where the 
tall monument pierced the sky. His resolution had 
been to look no more to the past, to leave its sad 


REPARATION. 


339 


reflections in the grave, and to keep his eyes on the 
future, while his thoughts engaged the present and 
made what they could out of it. At this moment it 
was impossible. Back went his recollection to the 
hour when Linda was in the meridian of her health 
and beauty, when he was young and full of hope 
and unstained by sin, when Kuth was his by love’s 
clear title. The intervening years were like a night- 
mare — ignorance at the beginning, murder at the 
end, and mystery everywhere. Was he not dream- 
ing now ? At a convenient spot along the shore he 
found a boat, whose he knew not, but used it as if it 
were his own. It was a long and weary pull against 
a north wind until he reached the shelter of the 
channel ; longer and wearier across Eel Bay to the 
anchorage below the cabin ; and the night reminded 
him of that blustering, raw evening when with Kuth 
he had first set foot on this island. First to the 
grave and then to the house ! He lit the fire and 
drew the curtain, fondled Izaak Walton, and settling 
close to the log blaze, felt himself at home. His 
home I He was cut off from the world at last and 
forever. 

Kuth quickly received word of his return and the 
events preceding it, and had a long conversation 
with Pere Kougevin touching the new hermit. As 
a part of a plan which she had conceived, and the 
Pere improved and perfected, the Squire was in- 
formed of Florian’s presence in Clayburgh. 

“ Where is he stopping ? ” said the old man, 
doubtfully. ‘‘ What’s he doing here at this time of 
the year ? What’s he come for ? ” 

“ He is living by himself on Solitary Island/’ 


340 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


said Euth. “ For the rest you had better ask him- 
self.” 

‘‘ What ! ” murmured the Squire, and he said a 
queer word under his breath, ‘‘ have you Jesuits got 
- hold of him again ? ” 

“ The news came from New York,” Euth re- 
plied indifferently ; “ I know nothing more about it, 
papa.” 

“ Well, you’ll know more after I get back, girl. 
Living on Solitary Island, hey ? I’ll blow that island 
to the — cats. It’s more trouble, for a little two-acre 
mud-hole that it is, than old Grindstone ! Does the 
Pere know of this ? ” 

“ I told him, papa.” 

“ Of course you did. You and he are always 
plotting and planning. He’s a sneaky Jesuit, and 
I’ll tell him so when I see him. And mark me, 
Euth, don’t let me hear of you or the priest visiting 
that boy without my permission. You’re both free 
and independent, but by the shade of McKenzie I’m 
Sheriff, and I’ll make you both feel it if I’m diso- 
beyed.” 

“We have not the faintest desire, papa,” said 
Euth meekly, “ to see Florian ; but we fear he is 
troubled, and we know that there is no one like his 
old friend to help him. Unless you permit it, we 
shall not go near him.” 

“You’re a deep pair,” said the distrustful Squire, 
shaking his leonine head, “ but I’m to be ahead of 
you, anyhow.” 

What he feared and distrusted he scarcely knew, 
but he was ready to maintain against all opponents 
that Florian’ s proper place at any time was New 


BEPARATION. 


341 


York City. Not to be there was, in his eyes, dan- 
gerous for so prominent a politician. He shook 
hands with the hermit on entering the cabin, and 
sat down in a panic. This was the man who had 
bought the ticket weeks previous in Clayburgh sta- 
tion, but it surely was not Florian. 

“ What’s happened, Flory ? ” he asked in a hushed, 
awed voice. 

“ I’ve changed my method of living,” said Florian 
gravely. 

“ I should think you had,” murmured the Squire 
feebly, “ but I don’t get the hang of this thing, 
somehow.” 

The hermit did not seem to care much for his 
dazed condition, as he made no effort to relieve it. 
The Squire shook off a tendency to faint with 
disgust. 

‘‘ Flory,” said he sternly, I’ve sworn by you 
since you were born, because there was not a year 
nor an hour of your life that I couldn’t put my hand 
down and say. He’s just so. I can’t do that now. 
What’s come over you ? Why are you here instead 
of in New York? Who’s been bewitching you? 
What has happened to you ? Good God ! ” cried he 
in an excess of feeling, standing up to hit the table 
into fragments with his fist, tell me something, or 
I’ll think you’ve been dead and come back to life 
again.” 

The crash of the broken furniture sobered him for 
an instant. Florian looked with slight displeasure 
at the ruin. 

“ There is no need of excitement,” he said sooth- 
ingly, and the tone cut the Squire to the heart. 


SOLITARY ISLAND^ 


B42 

He sat down trembling, almost crying, as a sus- 
picion of Florian’s sanity entered his head. 

I was dead,” continued Florian, “ and I came to 
life again. You are very shrewd, Squire.” 

He paused, and Pendleton waited long for further 
information, but none came. The hermit sat gazing 
into the dying embers of the fire, and at times 
moved naturally around the cabin, arranging odd 
articles or brushing them. The Squire stared at 
him with a feeling, as he said afterwards, that 
Eev. Mr. Buck was pouring ice-water down his 
spine. 

“ I suppose it surprises you, old friend,” Florian 
said, with sudden cordiality, “ but I have come here 
to live for good. You know who lived here before 
me. I am not better than he, am I ? It pleases me 
to follow him, and I don’t think the world has any 
reason to make a fuss over it.” 

Pendleton considered this expression of a future 
policy some moments, and then, reverting to the 
words, “ I am not better than he, am I ? ” said em- 
phatically : 

“ Yes, you «^>, Flory, and don’t you forget it.” 
Here a pause, while he gathered himself for another 
burst, and then, “Better than him! Why, what 
was he more than a slave of the Eussian Empire — 
with all respect to him as your father — a fellow that 
didn’t dare call his life his own? And you are 
an American citizen, a governor, almost, of the 
greatest State in the Union and a Clay burgh boy. 
Flory, this looks like insanity. Flory, I don’t know 
what to say to you. I’m groping. Can’t you look 
and talk for one minute as you used to, Flory ? ” 


REPARATION. 


343 


This appeal made no further impression on the 
hermit than to illuminate his pallid face with a 
smile. The Squire made a few more weak attempts 
upon the hermit’s defenses, and then rushed in sud- 
den and overpowering disgust for the door. 

“ I’ve got to think,” said he, “ and I can’t do it 
looking at a corpse.” 

He did not hear Florian laugh as he banged the 
door — the first laugh that had passed his lips since 
the night of Yladimir’s revelations. After an hour 
he returned and resumed his seat with determina- 
tion written all over him. 

“ I must know the ins and outs of this thing,” he 
said quietly ; “ and I’m going to put some questions 
as the sheriff of Jefferson County. What’s to pre- 
vent me from jailing you ? ” 

“ Hothing,” said Florian, “ unless the consequence 
— jailing yourself.” 

“ How, Flory, be reasonable and answer squarely. 
Have you thrown up politics for good and all ? ” 

“ I have.” 

“ And you are going to live on this island for the 
next forty years or so ? ” 

“ With God’s will, yes.” 

“H’m! that smacks of the Jesuits. What’s the 
reason of all this, Flory? Did you get a pious 
stroke ? ” 

“ I suppose it was that,” said Florian, meditating 
as if a new question had touched his soul. 

“ Is it in the papist line, lad, somewhat like your 
father ? I hoped you were working away from the 
Jesuits?” 

A faint blush spread over Florian’s face. 


344 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ I am nearer to the Jesuits than ever, but not as 
near as I could wish.” 

“ So I thought,” said the Squire, shaking his head 
— so I thought. And I must say my opinion of 
the Jesuits is considerably smaller than it was an 
hour ago.” 

He reflected a few moments, and saw that Flo- 
rian’s curiosity was aroused. 

“ Had I been the boss of the Jesuit corporation,” 
said he, aiming eyes and finger at Florian’s reason, 
“ I think I could have done a smarter bit of business 
than has been done in letting you bury yourself out 
of sight. When you got your pious stroke and came 
to me to have it utilized, put in the market, so to 
speak, I’d have thought in this way : ‘ Here’s a man 
as clever as Webster, a speaker, a wire-puller, a states- 
man ; .knows the ins and outs of everything. Here 
we are, papists without much understanding, with no 
politicians to speak of on our side ; nobody to look 
after us when the spoils are dividing and the Meth- 
odists are gobbling everything ; nobody with the 
ears of the nabobs between his finger and his thumb 
to tell our story there. Here’s a man dying to get 
such a job.’ And I’d give it to you and send you 
out, if you did nothing less than educate young 
papists to do as you did, Flory,” said the Squire 
solemnly. ‘‘Could you let me have the name or 
the daguerreotype of the boss Jesuit? I’ve heard 
and seen a great many fools in my time, but I 
put him down as the completest fool that was ever 
born.” 

It was an impressive speech and had a meaning 
which Florian seized upon quickly. The Squire had 


REPARATION. 


346 


sent home like an arrow a thought which had not 
yet broken upon Florian’s mental vision. When he 
described his speech to Kuth, in fear that he might 
spoil the effect which he had created, she forbade 
further visits to the island until the hermit had time 
to revolve the thought in his mind. 

“You know Flory,” she said to him — “how when 
you present ^him a new idea he thinks and thinks 
about it until he knows it to the core. Let him think 
upon it for a week. It was such a very good idea.” 

“ Wasn’t it, now ? ” said the gleeful Squire. “ I’d 
like to present him with one more, and that would 
fetch him.” 

It was reserved for Pere Eougevin, however, to 
present the second idea ; and as a result of his visit 
and long talk with Florian Kuth was informed that 
the time was ripe for her interference. The Squire 
insisted on accompanying her. Euth could hear her 
heart beat as she approached the cabin above the 
boulder. What would the final result be? They 
could not keep from Florian the secret of their 
assault upon his determination to do penance as a 
solitary. Would the knowledge drive him to ob- 
stinacy ? She did not yet know the extent of the 
change which had taken place in him. Florian 
opened the door for them. ’ 

“ If your visitors are all as persistent as we are,” 
said she, smiling, “ you will not have much of your 
solitude.” 

“ I fear I am not to have much of it anyway,” he 
replied, in such a tone as made it hard to tell his 
feelings. “ Your father, here, has disturbed me on 
that point, and Pere Eougevin has almost settled it 


346 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


that I shall go out into the world and be a hermit 
there.” 

“ The best thing the Pere ever did in his life,” said 
the Squire. 

Which would be very hard for you, Florian,” 
said Kuth, with a gentle sympathy that woke him at 
once, while the Squire was resolved into a thunder- 
cloud at this treachery. 

“ Ruth, you tell me what to do,” Florian said 
humbly, and submissively. 

“ It is easy enough to endure this solitude,” she 
continued ; ‘‘ it may be beautiful to certain natures. 
But to be alone in the busy world is very trying. 
Of course duty makes the hard things easy and 
sweet. That would be your only consolation, 
Florian.” 

“ It is this way with me, Ruth,” he began eagerly, 
and making no account of the Squire: “I have 
learned to love this place, this life, as I never loved 
anything in this world. You know why. And 
what I was is such a horror and shame to me that 
to return to its scenes is like death. Yet it seems to 
me and to your father, and to the Pere that I ought 
not throw aside a power which could certainly be 
used for the general good, merely to satisfy myself.” 

And you ought not, that is true ” 

“ ThaPs what /maintain — that’s what T've main- 
tained all along ! ” shouted the Squire. “ Flory, if 
you do otherwise you must write your name be- 
side the boss Jesuit’s.” 

“How, papa ! ” said Ruth, bringing the boiling 
volcano down to a harmless simmer. “You ought 
not, Florian, if there would be no danger to your- 


REPARATION. 


347 


self in holding a power which was to you so strong 
a temptation.” 

“ I would take and hold it under protest,” he re- 
plied confidently. “ I value it no more than a straw. 
I cannot disguise from myself that hereafter I can 
but despise it. O Ruth ! is there no middle course ? 
Yet why do I ask? I have set myself to do that 
which is hardest. Let me take the worst with joy.” 

Ruth’s face kindled into enthusiasm. 

“ Well, there is a middle course,” she said, trium- 
phantly. “You can remain in your solitude and 
yet retain your interest in the world.” 

Both gentlemen uttered exclamations of delight 
or rage, and turned upon her — the hermit, hopefully, 
the Squire in despair. 

“ Have you forgotten Frances ? ” she said. 

“Ho,” and he drew away as if hurt. “She has 
justly forgotten me. I saw her. It is all over.” 

“ You saw her mother, Florian. If you had seen 
herself you would not have been in trouble long. 
It is not all over. That dear girl is as faithful to 
you as if you never wronged her. She let her 
mother speak first, as obedience required ; and she 
was silent, as became her modesty. But she never 
lost faith in you when we all trembled, and she loves 
you still.” 

This picture of feminine devotion drew the tears 
to Ruth’s eyes. 

“Then, besides, you were half-glad the test of 
coming here to live was not to be laid before her. 
She would have followed you to a tent, you foolish 
fellow. Florian, where are your wits ? See that hill 
yonder ? Build there a pretty villa, and bring 


848 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


Frances to preside over it. There is no reason why a 
great politician should not live among the islands and 
rule from this solitude. You need not practice law. 
And so your temptations are minimized, your influ- 
ence is preserved, and your solitude is saved to you.” 

It was a sight to see the Squire’s face gloAV as 
Ruth reached her climax, and when the last word 
was uttered he gave a cheer that rattled the loose 
articles in the room. 

“ You can think over it,” said she, seeing that the 
Squire’s emotion jarred upon him. ‘‘ These things 
cannot be done hastily. “ If it be God’s will that 
you stay here ” 

“ More Jesuitism ! ” growled the Squire. 

“ You must do so. If duty points another road to 
you, my advice will occur to you as an easy way 
out of the difliculty. You will not forget Frances ? ” 
she added wistfully. 

“ I can never forget her,” he replied. “ I thank 
you for your visit, Ruth. In a little while I can 
decide, if I have not already decided. Squire, not 
another word, or I stay here forever.” 

Pendleton saw dimly that few words and a speedy 
departure were two important points in Ruth’s pro- 
gramme, and for a wonder he tucked his daughter 
under his arm and, with a brief farewell, led her 
down to the boat. 


CHAPTEE XXYL 


TRUE HEARTS. 

Clayburgh was “ completely upsot,” as a native 
expressed it, by the publication of the banns of mar- 
riage between Paul Kossiter and Euth Pendleton. 
It had “ reckoned ’’ on her remaining an old maid ; 
it ‘‘ admired ” what the Squire would do now ; it 
“ swowed ” its astonishment over and over for two 
weeks, at the end of which time the marriage was 
accomplished in white satin and tulle, and a great 
part of the town assisted in the festivities. Parker 
C. Lynch, as Peter Carter was now known, was ex- 
officio the master of the feast. In full morning- 
dress, gloved and collared to perfection, this erratic 
representative of the bluest blood of Ireland was 
a fine-looking gentleman on the model of an Eng- 
lish squire, and, when he posed or walked under the 
wide eyes of the assembly, showed that he had 
not forgotten his earlier training. The Squire 
could not restrain his astonishment or refuse 
his admiration. In his suit of armor he was as stiff 
as a post ; growled and swore secretly at intervals 
and looked anxiously for the opportunity to steal 
away and disrobe. 

“ Where did you get the knack of wearing this 
confounded rig ? ’’ said he to Peter. “ Can you see 
349 


350 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


those tails of mine ? I feel like a swallow. I don’t 
know what minute l am going to fly.” 

“You’re a ground-swallow,” replied Peter, with 
a grin, and a drinking gesture. “ Ye’re cavernous. 
Squire. Faith ye look well for an old country buck 
that knows so little, and ye carry the odd garment 
neatly.” 

“ How do you manage to do it ? ” said the Squire 
awe-stricken. 

“ It was born there,” Peter said — “ the coat I 
mean. I had it on when I was born. D’ye notice 
the shape of my legs ? Ye can never wear a swal- 
low-tail unless you are shaped so.” 

The Squire looked down mournfully at a fearful 
waste of thighbone and flesh on his particular per- 
son. 

“ I must look awful,” said he sadly. “ Couldn’t 
we get away, Peter, and get rid of these togs ? ” 

Hot the least distinguished of the guests was Mrs. 
Buck and her minister, as faultless in costume as of 
old. The good lady had been somewhat left in the 
shade since the discovery of Florian’s real parentage, 
and her vanity had received a deep wound in being 
cut off so roughly from her famous brother. Mr. 
Buck alone could have told her severe disappoint- 
ment at not having been the Princess Linda, and 
her ravings over the possibility of Mrs. Winifred 
having put Linda in her place. These weaknesses 
Sara kept from the world prudently. She was now 
quite a mother in Israel. Five blooming and clever 
children clung on occasions to her voluminous skirts, 
and her matronly flgure, with its still coquettish 
movements, was almost charming. Her faith was 


TRUE HEARTS. 


351 


wholly dead. She never was troubled with a single 
longing for the truths on which she had been fed, 
nor with a single scruple as to her apostasy. In 
being liberal enough to consider Catholics on a par 
with Episcopalians and in despising the sects she 
considered herself doctrinally safe. She seized upon 
the Squire at a most critical moment. Peter had 
just winked at him knowingly and then disappeared 
into the upper rooms. 

“ Aren’t you happy, Squire ? ” buzzed Sara in his 
ears. “ Who would have thought, knowing, as we 
do, all that has happened, that this day would ever 
have come ? Who is Mr. Kossiter ? Such a fascin- 
ating man ! How is it that he wasn’t gobbled up 
by a handsomer woman than our Kuth ? ” 

“Because in ISTew York, where there aren’t any 
women,” said the sarcastic Squire, “he didn’t see 
any one handsomer. If he had come to Clayburgh 
first, where the women are as thick as sardines, Kuth 
wouldn’t have had a chance.” 

The two old gentlemen finally made themselves 
comfortable in the kitchen attic, as became barba- 
rians fond of undress uniforms, cards, and punch. 
Once the Squire felt a mystery in the air, and ex- 
postulated with Kuth. 

“ Why isn’t Flory here ? ” he asked. 

“ The man with the gizzard,” said Peter. 

“ Give him time,” replied Kuth. “ These great 
men don’t come and go as we common people do.” 

“ Common people I I’m sheriff of the county ! ” 

“ And I represent the Trihune^'^ said Peter. 

“ Don’t be quarrelsome. When Florian comes you 
shall see and hear him.” 


352 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ What’s all this running about for ? ” 

‘‘ Now, Papa, go away and be reasonable or I shall 
punish you.” 

“ Gimme my punishment now,” urged the Squire, 
and, after pulling his whiskers, she dismissed him 
with a kiss. At twilight the guests were gone, and 
the Squire and Peter were peacefully sleeping off 
the effects of the day’s excitement. The poet and 
his bride stood together on the veranda, facing the 
calm waters of the river, her head resting on his 
shoulder and her deep eyes watching the stars in the 
cool, far-reaching sky. 

“It is all over,” she sighed, occasionally — “all 
over. One effect of a steady life in these old vil- 
lages is peculiar. The years seem as days. I am 
not ten days older in thought than when Linda used 
to come down that road — 0 my dear little princess ! 
— waving her hands and singing to me a loug way 
off. All the nights like these seem as one, there 
have been so many of them.” 

“ And there are to be so many of them,” said the 
poet. 

“ Let us hope so, dear,” said she. “ With all the 
suffering and uncertainty in the past there has been 
more beauty in it than ugliness, more good than evil. 
Even poor Florian will find certain and unexpected 
rest to-night.” 

“There are two figures coming down the road, 
Kuth. It is time for Florian to be here.” 

“ Do you meet them, and then send Florian up to 
the parlor,” said she. “ Tell him I would like to 
see him.” 

Pere Eougevin and Florian came up the steps to- 


TEUE HEAETS. 


353 


gether, and the politician congratulated the poet 
where he stood. The three gentlemen seemed to 
be in perfect accord, and at ease with one another. 
Florian proceeded alone to the apartment where 
Kuth, all aglow with delight, awaited him. 

“ Accept my best wishes for your future happi- 
ness,” said he ; “ the present is all your own.” 

She looked at him with satisfaction. His dress 
was the usual neat-fitting citizen’s costume, his hair 
had been cut and his beard trimmed. Florian, sub- 
dued and pale, was very much himself again. 

“ I conclude from your appearance,” said Kuth, 
“ that conscience has again decided against a solitary 
life for you.” 

It is settled,” he said, “ that I am still to remain 
in the political world — most of the time here ; as it 
may need in Hew York.” 

“You are very sad over it. Have you forgotten 
my met media f I flattered myself you would act on 
that immediately.” 

“ How gladly would I, if it rested only with my- 
self! But, Kuth, put yourself in my place. You 
know the motive I had in deserting Frances. I have 
no courage that would send me to the feet of one I 
have so ivronged to ask a great favor.” 

“ How is it ever to be done ? ” said Kuth. 
“ Frances has forgiven you, will have no other but 
you, waits for you, weeps for you. She is not bold 
enough, and you are excessively humble. This will 
never do. There should be no go-betweens, yet I 
cannot see how it is to be avoided if you will not 
speak for yourself.” 

He was silent for a few moments. 

23 


354 


SOLITARY ISLAND. 


“ It would be a great happiness for me,’’ he said, 
“ to have the support and sympathy of one so ten- 
derly loved. Yet you know her bringing up. You 
see the life that awaits me and those who attach 
themselves to my fortunes. How can I ask her to 
banish herself to Solitary Island ? ” 

‘Ht might be hard enough, but heartache and 
luxury are not always preferable to a handsome 
villa and content on the island.” 

“ You leave me no way of escape,” he said. 

‘‘ I am laying a snare for you. Do you know that 
I have been over-bold ? I wrote to your Frances. 
I told her everything as I knew it. I asked her if 
the past could not be mended in the only way that 
it could be. She wrote to me a very brief letter ! 
What do you think it said ? ” 

He waited for her to answer her own question. 
“ Bead it,” she said placing it in his hands. It con- 
tained but a single sentence. 

“ Tell him he may come.” 

“ Thank God,” said Florian with a sigh. 

“You are a happy man, Florian.” 

“ And I owe so much of it to you, Kuth,” he re- 
plied gratefully. 

They went out on the veranda, where the priest 
and Paul sat talking. Both gentlemen shook hands 
with him in silence, and the conversation drifted 
into commonplace matters. The marble shaft bear- 
ing Linda’s name was visible from the house. The 
calm waters of the river lay placid in the moonlight. 
It was an hour of great rest for these four persons, 
whose saddest memories were connected with the 
scene before them. Although they were full of joy 


TRUE HEARTS. 


355 


at the happy ending of so many difficulties, the re- 
membrance of what had happened chastened that 
joy severely, and, if they saw before them a pleasant 
future, it was made so only by the hope that, no 
matter what fortune befell them, God would never 
permit them to wander from His fold. Life is hard 
enough, and death bitter, but when sin takes hold of 
both there is no sorrow can surpass them. 


THE END. 


I 





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